“But he can’t!  How can he?  Two hundred names; and I don’t know them, or half of them.”

Then she felt the tears coming, and she crept in under some benches, and cried.

She lay there a long time, listening to the curious hum and buzz above her.  And at last it occurred to her to go to the Bishop, and tell this old, kind friend the truth.

But she was too late.  As she got to her feet, she heard her own name called from the platform, in the Bishop’s voice.

“Where’s Alanna Costello?  Ask her who has number eighty-three on the desk.  Eighty-three wins the desk!  Find little Alanna Costello!”

Alanna had no time for thought.  Only one course of action occurred to her.  She cleared her throat.

“Mrs. Will Church has that number, Bishop,” she said.

The crowd about her gave way, and the Bishop saw her, rosy, embarrassed, and breathless.

“Ah, there you are!” said the Bishop.  “Who has it?”

“Mrs. Church, your Grace,” said Alanna, calmly this time.

“Well, did you ever,” said Mrs. Costello to the Bishop.  She had gone up to claim a mirror she had won, a mirror with a gold frame, and lilacs and roses painted lavishly on its surface.

“Gee, I bet Alanna was pleased about the desk!” said Dan in the carriage.

“Mrs. Church nearly cried,” Teresa said.  “But where’d Alanna go to?  I couldn’t find her until just a few minutes ago, and then she was so queer!”

“It’s my opinion she was dead tired,” said her mother.  “Look how sound she’s asleep!  Carry her up, Frank.  I’ll keep her in bed in the morning.”

They kept Alanna in bed for many mornings, for her secret weighed on her soul, and she failed suddenly in color, strength, and appetite.  She grew weak and nervous, and one afternoon, when the Bishop came to see her, worked herself into such a frenzy that Mrs. Costello wonderingly consented to her entreaty that he should not come up.

She would not see Mrs. Church, nor go to see the desk in its new house, nor speak of the fair in any way.  But she did ask her mother who swept out the hall after the fair.

“I did a good deal meself,” said Mrs. Costello, dashing one hope to the ground.  Alanna leaned back in her chair, sick with disappointment.

One afternoon, about a week after the fair, she was brooding over the fire.  The other children were at the matinee, Mrs. Costello was out, and a violent storm was whirling about the nursery windows.

Presently, Annie, the laundress, put her frowsy head in at the door.  She was a queer, warm-hearted Irish girl; her big arms were still streaming from the tub, and her apron was wet.

“Ahl alone?” said Annie, with a broad smile.

“Yes; come in, won’t you, Annie?” said little Alanna.

“I cahn’t.  I’m at the toobs,” said Annie, coming in, nevertheless.  “I was doin’ all the tableclot’s and napkins, an’ out drops your little buke!”