“Now we are ready,” said Mrs. Church; “and I must say,” she added, “that I am pleased.  I have known good genteel living in my lifetime, and I expect that Providence means me to know it again before I die.  Susy and Tom, you are both good children.  You have your spice of wickedness in you, but when all is said and done you mean well, and I may as well promise you both now that when I get to Ireland I will have you over in the holidays.  You will enjoy that—­won’t you, Thomas?”

“See if I don’t, Aunt Church.  And I always was your own boy, wasn’t I?  And you won’t mind, old lady—­say you won’t mind—­leaving me the microscope when you cross the briny?  I’m fairly taken with that microscope.  I dream of it at night, and think of it every minute of the day.”

“Come here and look me in the eyes, Tom,” said Mrs. Church.

Tom went over.  Out of his freckled face there beamed two honest light-blue eyes.  His forehead was broad and slightly bulgy; his carroty hair was cut short to his head.  Mrs. Church raised her wrinkled old hand and laid it for a minute on Tom’s forehead.

“You resemble your great-uncle, my husband,” she said.  “He was the cleverest man I ever came across.  He had a real turn for the microscope.”

“Then, of course, you will leave it behind you; of course you will give it to me,” said Tom, quite triumphant with eagerness.

“No, my boy, that I won’t.  If you are a good boy, and do me credit, and get on with your books, and do well in that calling which Providence means you to work in, why, I may leave it to you when I am called hence, Tom.”

“There, Tom!” said Susy, coming forward.  “Don’t worry Aunt Church any more.  She’s got plenty to think about.—­Won’t you turn him out now, Aunt Church?  It is time for you to be dressing, you know.”

“So it is,” said Mrs. Church, looking round her in some alarm.  “Whatever is the hour, child?”

“It is going on for six o’clock; and they will be here at half-past seven at the latest.”

“Very well,” said Tom; “if I must go I will have a talk with Brownie.”

He looked at Susy as if he meant to defy her, but Susy was too wise to anger him at that moment.  As soon as ever he was out of the house she fetched hot water, soap and a clean towel.  Having helped old Mrs. Church with her ablutions, she produced a clean cap and a little black shawl.  The old lady said that she felt very smart and refreshed, and altogether in a state to do honor to that dear little almshouse.

“I am quite taking to you, Susy,” she said.  “But I do hope you will marshal those dreadful girls into the backyard without frightening my hens or Brownie.”

“Pigs aren’t remarkable for sensitiveness,” said Susy.  “But I tell you what, Aunt Church; Tom’s after mischief; he means to witness all the proceedings of dear Miss Kathleen’s great society, and we oughtn’t to let him.  It would do a lot of mischief if the school heard of it, and we would most likely be expelled.  He don’t mind a word I say, so will you talk to him, aunty?”