“Never mind, baby,” said Mrs. Costello, hurriedly.  “Mother’ll find you something to do.  There now!  How’d you like to have a raffle book on something,—­a chair or a piller?  And you could get all the names yourself, and keep the money in a little bag—­”

“Oh, my!  I wish I could!” said Jim, artfully.  “Think of the last night, when the drawing comes!  You’ll have the fun of looking up the winning number in your book, and calling it out, in the hall.”

“Would I, Dad?” said Alanna, softly, but with dawning interest.

“And then, from the pulpit, when the returns are all in,” contributed Dan, warmly, “Father Crowley will read out your name,—­ With Mrs. Frank Costello’s booth—­raffle of sofa cushion, by Miss Alanna Costello, twenty-six dollars and thirty-five cents!”

“Oo—­would he, Dad?” said Alanna, won to smiles and dimples by this charming prospect.

“Of course he would!” said her father.  “Now go back to your seat, Machree, and eat your dinner.  When Mommer takes you and Tess to the matinee to-morrow, ask her to bring you in to me first, and you and I’ll step over to Paul’s, and pick out a table or a couch, or something.  Eh, Mommie?”

“And what do you say?” said that lady to Alanna, as the radiant little girl went back to her chair.

Whereupon Alanna breathed a bashful “Thank you, Dad,” into the ruffled yoke of her frock, and the matter was settled.

The next day she trotted beside her father to Paul’s big furniture store, and after long hesitation selected a little desk of shining brass and dull oak.

“Now,” said her father, when they were back in his office, and Teresa and Mrs. Costello were eager for the matinee, “here’s your book of numbers, Alanna.  And here, I’ll tie a pencil and a string to it.  Don’t lose it.  I’ve given you two hundred numbers at a quarter each, and mind the minute any one pays for one, you put their name down on the same line!”

“Oo,—­oo!” said Alanna in pride.  “Two hundred!  That’s lots of money, isn’t it, Dad?  That’s eleven or fourteen dollars, isn’t it, Dad?”

“That’s fifty dollars, goose!” said her father making a dot with the pencil on the tip of her upturned little nose.

“Oo!” said Teresa, awed.  Hatted, furred, and muffed, she leaned on her father’s shoulder.

“Oo—­Dad!” whispered Alanna, with scarlet cheeks.

“So now!” said her mother, with a little nod of encouragement and warning.  “Put it right in your muff, lovey.  Don’t lose it.  Dan or Jim will help you count your money, and keep things straight.”

“And to begin with, we’ll all take a chance!” said the mayor, bringing his fat palm, full of silver, up from his pocket.  “How old are you, Mommie?”

“I’m thirty-seven,—­all but, as well you know, Frank!” said his wife, promptly.

“Thirty-six and thirty-seven for you, then!” He wrote her name opposite both numbers.  “And here’s the mayor on the same page,—­ forty-four!  And twelve for Tessie, and eight for this highbinder on my knee, here!  And now we’ll have one for little Gertie!”