“I don’t think so, really, Aunt Church; but perhaps when you know all you will give me a cup of tea, and perhaps you won’t be so cross the next time I wear my pale-blue blouse.”

“Ah, my dear, I wasn’t cross at the end of the time, although I did think it a bit suspicious:  your mother losing nineteen-and-sixpence of my own money out of her till—­you forget that fact, Susan Hopkins; it was my money—­and then you decking yourself out in the most unsuitable garment I ever saw on a little girl of your age and station.  It has pleased the Almighty, Susan, to put you in a low walk of life, and in that walk you ought to remain, and dress according—­yes, dress according.  But, as I said, I was not displeased at the end.  That was a very bonny young lady who came into your mother’s shop—­miles and miles above you, Susan.  And how she can demean herself to call you her friend passes my comprehension.”

“You are very rude, Aunt Church,” said Susy; “but I am not going to be angry with you, for I want you to help us.  I have got news for you, and very good news, too.  But I will only tell it to you on condition.”

Mrs. Church looked first skeptical, then curious, then keenly desirous.

“Well, child?” she said.  “Maybe you might as well put the kettle on the fire; it takes a good long time to boil.  It’s a very bobbish little kettle, and it has cranky whims just as though it were a human.  There’s a good child, Susan; take it out and fill it at the tap, and put it on the fire to boil up while you are telling me the rest of the story.  I always liked you very well, Susan; not so much as Tom, but you are quite to my liking, all things considered.”

“No, you never liked me, Aunt Church,” said Susy; “but I will fill the kettle if you have a fancy—­although perhaps I won’t be able to stay to have that cup of tea that you seem all of a sudden willing to give me.”

Mrs. Church said nothing.  Susy left the room with the kettle.

“I could fly out at her,” thought the old lady; “but where’s the good?  She’s hand and glove with that beautiful Miss O’Hara, and for the sake of the young lady I mustn’t get her back up too much.”

So Susy put the kettle on to boil, and then resumed her place opposite Mrs. Church.

“Susan,” said the old lady, “while the kettle is boiling you might as well lay the cloth and get out the tea-things.”

“No, no,” said Susy; “I haven’t come here to act servant to you, Aunt Church.”

“You have a very nasty manner, Susan; and whatever the Almighty may mean to do with you in the future, you had best change your tune or things will go ill with you.”

Susy sat quite still, apparently indifferent to these remarks.

“Well, if you won’t lay the cloth, and won’t help your own poor old aunt, you may as well tell me what you came for.”

“Not yet.  I will presently.”

Susy was now thoroughly enjoying herself.  Mrs. Church edged her chair a little nearer; her beady black eyes seemed to read Susy through and through.