But as the calmest stream is ruffled at some time on its course, so there comes to every human life a shock that upturns hidden forces.  And this came to Treesa.  It was when she was one day summoned to the private office downstairs:  that dread tribunal for the wrongdoers of the large household—­a locality as little heeded by the girl as any other foreign place, albeit there had been new and strange proprietors as the years went by.  Without so much as a ripple of excitement upon her homely features, she came down and stood within the door, respectfully awaiting orders.  The two arbiters of her destiny were in close conference upon ways and means.  Expense must be cut down.  There must be a weeding out.  Raising his head and looking in some curiosity at the queer apparition, the new partner said:  “Are you Teresa O’Toole?”

“Me name is that same, sir,” she said, meeting the eyes.  “An’ what thin, sir?” she added, as for a moment he was silent.

“Yes—­ah—­” he went on, this time not exactly confronting the expectant face—­“We’ve been thinking, Teresa—­we were just saying—­that you are getting along in years now, and—­ah—­the fact is, we think you ought to have a rest.  Some one younger, and stronger, ought to relieve you, and give you a chance to pick up.  You are a good girl,” with encouraging justice, “a very good girl, and have been faithful and honest.  But we—­” he hesitated, as Treesa’s lean face suddenly darkened with an unwonted flush.  Then she broke out: 

“An’ is it me dischairge ye’d be afther givin’ me, sir?”

“Well, yes, about that, it amounts to that, I suppose,” admitted the great man.  “You see, my good woman,” he ventured softly, noting the breakers ahead, “the fact is—­”

“Well, thin,” she burst forth in righteous wrath, placing her hard, red arms akimbo, and struggling to loose her tongue, “I’ll be afther tellin’ yees, I’ll not take a dischairge from yees, sir!  It’s here I’ve been this fifty year, an’ more.  I was the first gurll in the house, for sure I come before the likes of yees was born an’ before yees iver darkened the doors.  It’s no fault can be found with me.  I’ll stay right here!” and turning, she went out.

There was silence in the office.  Then the senior partner, his eye twinkling, spoke: 

“What are we going to do about it?”

“Why, nothing”, drily said the other, “nothing, I suppose; you heard what she said, I presume she will stay on.”

And stay on she did, her one dominant idea as fixed as the polar star.  As the years rolled by she might have rested from her labors, but for this sense of devotion to duty.  Even a monthly pittance will count through the ages; so Treesa’s savings came at last to foot up into the thousands.  Not even good Father Clement could have told the amount, or where she kept it.  Like herself, it was a mystery.  She continued to hoard and to hide, with no misgiving of loss by thief, or by accident; with no forewarning of danger.  Yet dire calamity was impending.