“Susy,” said poor Mrs. Hopkins, “for goodness’ sake, leave the room.—­Aunt Church, you know perfectly well that I am not responsible for the naughty ways of that naughty little girl.  It’s apologize to you she shall, and that before you leave this house.  And you know that if you press me now to return the money in full I’ll have to sell up the shop, and the children won’t have anything to eat, and we’ll all be ruined.  You wouldn’t be as cruel as that to your own flesh and blood, would you?”

“Well, Mary, I only said it to frighten you.  I ain’t at all a cruel woman.  On the contrary, I am kind-hearted; but I can’t stand the sauce of that little girl of yours.  It’s my opinion, Mary, that the lost money of yours is on the back of your Susan, and the sooner you get her to confess her sin the better it will be for us all.”

Now, before Mrs. Hopkins had time to utter a word with regard to this preposterous and appalling suggestion of Aunt Church’s, there came a loud knock on the little street-door, and, listening in the parlor, the people within could distinctly hear the rustle of silk petticoats.

“Who in the world can that be?” said Mrs. Hopkins.

Tom turned first red and then white, and rushed into the passage.  Susy, who had been crying in the shop, also appeared on the scene.

“I’ll open the door,” said Tom.  “Do wipe your eyes, Susy; don’t let her see you crying.  It’s herself, of course.”

The knocker was just going to be applied to the door again, when Tom opened it with a flourish, and there stood, waiting on the steps, a very brilliant apparition.  This was no less a person than Miss Kathleen O’Hara, in her Sunday best.

Now, Kathleen tried to bear with Mrs. Tennant’s advice with regard to her clothes in the week, but on Sundays she was absolutely determined that her love of finery should find full vent.  Accordingly, from her store of rich and beautiful garments, she chose the gayest and the most likely to attract attention.  On the present occasion she wore a crimson velvet toque.  Her jacket was bright blue, and she had a skirt to match.  On her neck she wore a rich necklet of flaming beads, which was extremely becoming to her; and thrown carelessly round her neck and shoulders was a boa of white fur, and she had a muff to match.  Altogether her radiant dress and radiant face were quite sufficient to dazzle Tom.  But Susy pushed past Tom and held out her hand.

“Oh, Kathleen,” she said, “I am glad you have come.  You’d best come into the shop with me; there’s company in the parlor, and I don’t think you’d care about it.”

Kathleen, of course, was just as pleased to stay in the shop with Susy as to go into any other part of the house; but just then Mrs. Hopkins put a sad, distressed face outside the door, and Mrs. Church’s voice was heard in high and grating accents: 

“I want to see the person who is talking in the passage.”