“I am sorry she is that sort of old lady,” said Kathleen after a pause; “but I have promised to try and get her into one of our almshouses.  It would be rare fun to have her there.”

“But she is not a bit poor.  She oughtn’t to go into an almshouse if she is rich,” said Susy.

“Of course she mustn’t go into an almshouse if she is rich; but she doesn’t look rich.”

“She is quite rich.  I think she has saved three hundred pounds.  You must call that rich.”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” said Kathleen.

Susy was silent for a moment.

“There are so many different views about riches,” she said at last.  “I am glad you are so tremendously rich that you think nothing of three hundred pounds.  Mother and I often sigh and pine even for one pound.  For instance, now—­But I mustn’t tell you; it would not be right.  Perhaps Aunt Church will be a little nicer to me now that you have taken her up.  I’ll threaten to complain to you if she doesn’t behave.”

Here Susy laughed merrily.

“That’s all right, Susan,” said Kathleen.  “I must go back now, for I have promised to go for a walk with Mrs. Tennant.  No one ever thinks about her as she ought to be thought of; so I have some plans in my head for her, too.  Oh, my head is full of plans, and I do wish—­yes, I do, Susy—­that I could make a lot of people happy.”

“You are a splendid girl,” said Susy.  “I wish there were others like you in the world.”

“No, I am not splendid,” said Kathleen, her lovely dark eyes looking wistful.  “I have heaps and lashons of faults; but I do like to make people happy.  I always did since I was a little child.  The person I am most anxious about at present is Ruth:  I love Ruth so very much.  You will be sure to see her this evening, won’t you?”

“Sure and certain,” said Susy.  “I am very much obliged to you, Kathleen; you have made a great difference in my life.”

The two girls parted just by the turnstile.  Kathleen passed through on her way across the common to Mrs. Tennant’s house, and Susy went slowly back to the High Street and the little stationer’s shop.

She found Mrs. Church in the act of being deposited in her bath-chair, and Tom, looking proud and flushed, attending on her.  Mrs. Hopkins was also standing just outside the shop, putting a wrap round the old lady and tucking her up.  When Susy appeared her mother called out to her: 

“Come along, you ungrateful girl.  Here’s Aunt Church going, and wondering why you have deserted her during the last hour.”

“That’s just like you, Mary Hopkins,” said old Mrs. Church.  “You scold when there’s no occasion to, and you withhold scolding when it’s due.  I don’t blame your daughter Susan for going out with that nice young lady.  I am only too pleased to think that any daughter of yours should be taken notice of by a young lady of the Miss Kathleen O’Hara type.  She’s a splendid girl; and, to tell you the honest truth, none of you are fit for her to touch you with a pair of tongs.”