“Yes, they have a very happy time.  They want for nothing.  There was an old lady belonging to our house who left a certain sum of money, and the old ladies get it between them.  They get six shillings a week each, and a dear little house to live in.  We are obliged to supply them with as much coal as they want, and candles, and a new pair of blankets on the first of every November, and a bale of unbleached calico on the first of May.  You can’t think how comfortable they are.  And then, of course, we throw in a lot of extra things—­the black velveteen dresses, and other garments of the same quality.”

“It must be a wonderful place to live in.  Is it very difficult to get into one of these houses, missy?”

“I don’t know.  Would you like to come?”

“That I would.”

“I’ll write to father and ask him if you may.”

“Miss, it would be wonderful.”

“You’d be very picturesque amongst them,” said Kathleen, gazing at Mrs. Church with a critical eye.  “And you’d have so much to tell them; because all the rest are Irish, and they have never gone beyond their own country.  But you have seen such a lot of life, haven’t you?”

“Miss, I can’t express all the tales I could tell.  I lived with the quality for so long.  I lived with Lord Henshel until he died; I was housekeeper there.  Oh, I could tell them lots of things.”

“It would be very nice if you came over; and I am almost sure there is a cottage vacant,” said Kathleen in a contemplative voice.  “It seems unfair to give the cottages entirely to Irish people.  We might have one English old lady.  You would enjoy it; you’d have such a lovely view!  And you might keep your own little pig if you liked.”

Mrs. Church was not enamored with the idea of keeping a pig.

“Perhaps fowls would do as well,” she said.  “I have a great fancy for birds, and I am fond of new-laid eggs.”

“Fowls will do just as well,” said Kathleen, rising now carelessly from her seat.  “Well, Mrs. Church, I will write to father and let you know if there is a vacancy; and you could come back with me in the summer, couldn’t you?”

“Oh, miss, it would be heaven!”

“Can’t we go out and have a walk now, Susy?” said Kathleen, who found the small parlor a little too close for her taste.

Susy rushed upstairs, put on her outdoor jacket and a cheap hat, and, trying to hide the holes in her gloves, ran downstairs.  Kathleen, however, was the last girl to notice any want in her companion’s wardrobe.  She had all her life been so abundantly supplied with clothes that, although she loved to array herself in fine garments, the want of them in others never attracted her attention.

“Susy,” she said the moment they got out of doors, “what is the matter with Ruth Craven?”

“With Ruth Craven?” said Susy, who was by no means inclined to waste her time over such an uninteresting person.