But, after all, was she quite happy?  Was she not at this very minute more or less oppressed by a secret fear?  Suppose any single individual in Merrifield heard of the midnight picnic—­the great, daring, midnight excursion into the heart of London.  Susy knew far better than Kathleen what a mad action the girls were about to perpetrate.  She knew because she lived with the class who discussed such things very openly.  If their frolic was not discovered, all would be well; if it was, it would be ruin—­ruin complete and absolute.  The ladies of the town would fight shy of her mother’s shop.  Aunt Church would be very unlikely to get her little almshouse in Ireland, for surely even Kathleen’s friends would be very angry with her if they knew.  Susy herself would be expelled from the school, and she in her fall would bring down her mother and brother.  Yes, terrible would be the consequences if they were discovered.  But then, they needn’t be.  Plucky people were not as a rule brought into trouble of that sort.  It only needed a brave heart and a firm foot, and courage which nothing could daunt; and the other girls, the thirty-eight who were to join Kathleen and Susy, would keep them company.  Nevertheless Susy was as unhappy as she was happy that day.  She was so absorbed in her feelings, and in wondering what would happen during the next twenty-four hours, that she was not attentive at her lessons, and did not notice how the teachers watched her and made remarks.  It was very evident to an onlooker that the teachers were particularly alert that morning, and that their gaze was principally fixed upon the foundationers.

No remarks, however, were made.  The school came to an end quite in the usual manner.  Immediately afterwards Kathleen dashed off to find Ruth.  Ruth was waiting for her just outside the gates.

“Here I am,” said Kathleen.  “Take my arm, won’t you, Ruthie?  I shall be very glad indeed to be introduced to your grandfather.”

Ruth made no answer.  Her face was white, but this fact only increased the rare delicacy, the sort of fragrance, which her appearance always presented.  Kathleen and Ruth, did they but know it, made a most charming contrast as they walked arm-in-arm across the common; for Ruth belonged more or less to the twilight and the evening star, and Kathleen—­her face, her eyes, her voice, her actions—­spoke to those who had eyes to see of the morning.  Kathleen was all enthusiasm, gay life, valor, daring; Ruth’s gentle face and quiet voice gave little indication of the real depth of character which lay beneath.

“This is such a lovely day,” said Kathleen, “and somehow I feel so downright happy.  Perhaps I am wrong, perhaps I am right, but I feel happy.  I think it is on account of the day.”

They had now reached the little path which led up to the cottage.  Ruth went first, and Kathleen followed.  What a tiny place for her darling favorite to live in!  But Kathleen felt she loved her all the better for it.