“Me?” said Mrs. Church.  “And what can a poor body like me do to help her?  Things ought to be the other way round; it’s she who ought to help me.”

“And so she will, and she said as much.  She said she’d do what she could to put you into one of those sweet little almshouses; and when Miss Kathleen says a thing she means it.  And there’s an aunt of hers has come over from Ireland—­and from all accounts she must be a perfect wonder—­and she’s coming, too.  Oh, Aunt Church, you are in luck!”

“You are enough to distract any one, child.  Susy, I told you the kettle would boil before we were ready for tea.  Take it off and put it on the hob; and be careful, for goodness’ sake, Susy Hopkins, or you’ll scald yourself.”

Susy removed the kettle from its position on the glowing bed of coals, and then resumed her narrative.

“They’re all coming,” she said, “and you will have to get them in by hook or crook.”

“You’re enough to deave a body.  Who’s coming, and where are they coming when they do come?”

“They’re coming here, Aunt Church, a lot of them—­girls like me—­big girls and little girls, old girls and young girls, bad girls and good girls; girls who’ll laugh at you, and girls who’ll respect you; some dressed badly, and some dressed fine.  They are all coming, up to forty of them in number, and Miss Kathleen O’Hara is the queen amongst them.  Miss Katie O’Flynn is coming, too, and it’s to your house they’re to come; and it’s to happen to-morrow night.”

“Really, Susy, of all the impertinent children, I do think you beat all.  Forty people coming into this tiny house, where we can scarcely turn round with more than two in the house!  You are talking pure nonsense, Susan Hopkins, and I’ll break my word if that’s all you have to tell.”

“It’s true enough.  Have you never heard of our society?  Well, of course not, so I will tell you.  It is this way, Aunt Church:  When Miss Kathleen came to the school she took pity on us foundationers.  She founded a society, and we used to meet in the old quarry just to the left of Johnson’s Field; and right good times we had.  She promised us all sorts of things.  It was she who gave me that blouse that you seemed to think I had bought with the money which was taken from mother’s till.  And she gave me this.  See, Aunt Church; if you look you will believe.”

Here Susy pulled from the neck of her dress a little heart-shaped locket with the device and name of the society on it.

“Look for yourself,” she said.

Mrs. Church did look.  She put on her spectacles and read the words, “The Wild Irish Girls, October, 18—.”

“Whatever does this mean?” she said.  “The Wild Irish Girls!  It doesn’t sound at all a respectable sort of name.”

“I am one,” said Susy, beginning to skip up and down.  “I am a Wild Irish Girl.”

“That you ain’t.  You don’t know the meaning of the thing.  You are nothing but a little, under-bred Cockney.”