“It might?  It certainly would,” said Kathleen.  “We will go to-morrow evening.  School is always over at four.  We can meet at the railway station between five and six, and go off all by ourselves to—­But where shall we go when we get to town?”

“Couldn’t we go to a theatre—­to the pit at one of the theatres?”

“If only Aunt Katie O’Flynn was with us it would be as right as right,” said Kathleen; “but dare we go alone?”

“I am sure we dare.  I shouldn’t be frightened.  I think some of the girls know exactly how to manage.”

“Well, I tell you what.  You know most of the names of the members.  Go round to-day and see as many as you can.  Tell them that I am game for a real bit of fun, and that I will stand treat.  We will go to town by the quarter-to-six train to-morrow evening.  We will have some refreshments at a restaurant, and then we will go to the pit of one of the theatres.  It will be a lark.  There will be about forty of us altogether.”

“We are sure to be found out.  It is too risky; and yet I think we’ll do it,” said Susy.  “Oh, there never was such a lark!”

“Nothing could happen to forty of us,” said Kathleen.  “I am going to do it just to defy them.  How dare they try to make dear little Ruth betray us?  But she won’t.  I am certain she won’t.”

Susy talked a little longer to Kathleen, and finally agreed to take her message to as many of the Wild Irish Girls as she could possibly reach.

“They will all hear of it safe enough,” said Susy.  “The whole forty of us will meet you at the station to-morrow night.  Oh dear! of course it is wrong.”

“It is magnificently wrong; that is the glorious part of it,” said Kathleen.  “Oh dear!  I feel almost as jolly as though I were in old Ireland again.”

She laughed merrily, parted from Susy, and ran all the rest of the way home.

CHAPTER XXIV.

KATHLEEN AND GRANDFATHER CRAVEN.

Friday was emphatically a summer’s day in winter.  The sky was cloudless; the few leaves that still remained on the trees looked brilliant in their autumn coloring.  The ground was crisp under foot; the air was soft, gentle, and pleasant.  Girls, like all other creatures, are susceptible to weather; they do their best work and have their best feelings aroused when the sun shines and the day looks cheerful.  The sunshiny weather puts heart into them.  But it is sad to relate that when a girl is bent on mischief she is even more mischievous, more daring, more defiant when the sun shines and the earth looks gay.

Kathleen awoke on the special morning after a night of wild dreams.  She raised herself on her elbow and looked across at Alice.

“What a lovely day!  Why, I see sunshine quite plainly from where I am lying.  Wake up, won’t you, Alice?” she said.

“How tiresome of you to rouse me!” said Alice, opening her eyes and looking crossly at Kathleen.