“Oh, not to prison, dear!  Only into a house in the town for a little while.”

It seemed to her quite dreadful that they should know the truth—­it was simply necessary to put it out of their heads.  That dear little girl looked so old already, such a little mother!  And, as they stood about her, she gazed piercingly at their heads.  They were quite clean.

The second dear little thing said: 

“We like bein’ here; we hope Father won’t be comin’ back from prison for a long time, so as we can go on stayin’ here.  Mr. Freeland gives us apples.”

The failure of her attempt to put a nicer idea into their heads disconcerted Frances Freeland for a moment only.  She said: 

“Who told you he was in prison?”

Biddy answered slowly:  “Nobody didn’t tell us; we picked it up.”

“Oh, but you should never pick things up!  That’s not at all nice.  You don’t know what harm they may do you.”

Billy replied:  “We picked up a dead cat yesterday.  It didn’t scratch a bit, it didn’t.”

And Biddy added:  “Please, what is prison like?”

Pity seized on Frances Freeland for these little derelicts, whose heads and pinafores and faces were so clean.  She pursed her lips very tight and said: 

“Hold out your hands, all of you.”

Three small hands were held out, and three small pairs of gray-blue eyes looked up at her.  From the recesses of her pocket she drew forth her purse, took from it three shillings, and placed one in the very centre of each palm.  The three small hands closed; two small grave bodies dipped in little courtesies; the third remained stock-still, but a grin spread gradually on its face from ear to ear.

“What do you say?” said Frances Freeland.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you—­what?”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“That’s right.  Now run away and play a nice game in the orchard.”

The three turned immediately and went.  A sound of whispering rose busily outside.  Frances Freeland, glancing through the window, saw them unlatching the wicket gate.  Sudden alarm seized her.  She put out her head and called.  Biddy came back.

“You mustn’t spend them all at once.”

Biddy shook her head.

“No.  Once we had a shillin’, and we were sick.  We’re goin’ to spend three pennies out of one shillin’ every day, till they’re gone.”

“And aren’t you going to put any by for a rainy day?”

“No.”

Frances Freeland did not know what to answer.  Dear little things!

The dear little things vanished.