"What? Without so much as a word to your father and mother? And did the
likes of that old housekeeper fire you?"

Beryl had no intention of telling of her ignominious fray with Mrs.
Budge.

"I'm engaged to be a companion to Gordon Forsyth!" she answered,
grandly.

At this Moira Lynch dropped a spoon with a loud clatter.

"A companion to--that new boy who's come to the Manor?"

Beryl, recognizing that her story needed detailed explanation, slipped
off her outer wraps, threw them into a chair, kissed her father lightly
on his cheek, perched herself on the old sofa and proceeded to tell the
story of Gordon Forsyth's coming to Gray Manor while her mother listened
with breathless interest.

"And it's a girl she is--a little lame girl!"

"The queerest kid you ever saw. Not a bit snippy or rich acting. She
doesn't get at all excited over her new clothes and bossing those old
fogeys around and ordering her motor any minute she wants it. She thinks
the little place she lived in in New York is lots nicer than Gray Manor.
When you look at her you think she's a baby and then when she talks,
why--she seems older than I am! But she's funny like you, Mom; she's
always pretending things are different from what they are and giving
them names. She calls old Budge the wicked woman who wanted to eat the
two children," Beryl giggled. "And she calls the Mills a Giant."

Moira Lynch's face beamed with joyous understanding. Here was a
fellow-soul, "funny" like herself, Beryl described her; Beryl, for whom
black was always and invariably black, and a spade a spade.

"Why, she even wanted to come down here with me," Beryl finished.

There were so many questions trembling on Moira's tongue that, for the
moment, supper was neglected. Not long, however; the striking of the
clock reminded her that in a very few minutes Dale would be home,
hungry. Her mission in life, next to tending her big Danny, was feeding
her two children. For tonight she had made Beryl's favorite dessert, a
bread pudding, the eggs for which she had carefully hoarded during
several days' denial. Beryl, keeping up a running fire of talk, spread
the cloth on the centre table and brought the dishes from the cupboard.

"By'n by, you'll be too fine for the rest of us," broke in big Danny
upon their chatter, the usual discordant tone in his voice.

"Well, I guess it won't be your fault if I am," Beryl flared.
"Everything that I've gotten I've gotten for myself and I don't