“She’s three years older’n you are, Alanna,” said Teresa, briskly, “and she’s in our room!  I don’t see how you can say she’s a friend of yours!  Do you, mother?”

“Well,” said Alanna, getting red, “she is.  She gave me a rag when I cut me knee, and one day she lifted the cup down for me when Mary Deane stuck it up on a high nail, so that none of us could get drinks, and when Sister Rose said, ‘Who is talking?’ she said Alanna Costello wasn’t ‘cause she’s sitting here as quiet as a mouse!’”

“All that sounds very kind and friendly to me,” said Mrs. Costello, soothingly.

“I expect that’s Doctor Hammond’s girl?” said the Mayor.

“No, sir,” said Dan.  “These are the Hammonds who live over by the bridge.  There’s just two kids, Marg’ret and Joe, and their father.  Joe served the eight o’clock Mass with me one week,—­you know, Jim, the week you were sick.”

“Sure,” said Jim.  “Hammond’s a nice feller.”

Their father scraped his chin with a fat hand.

“I know them,” he said ruminatively.  Mrs. Costello looked up.

“That’s not the Hammond you had trouble with at the shop, Frank?” she said.

“Well, I’m thinking maybe it is,” her husband admitted.  “He’s had a good deal of bad luck one way or another, since he lost his wife.”  He turned to Teresa.  “You be as nice as you can to little Marg’ret Hammond, Tess,” said he.

“I wonder who the wife was?” said Mrs. Costello.  “If this little girl is a ‘grandchild,’ I ought to know the mother.  Ask her, Tess.”

Teresa hesitated.

“I don’t play with her much, mother.  And she’s sort of shy,” she began.

“I’ll ask her,” said Alanna, boldly.  “I don’t care if she is going on twelve.  She goes up to the chapel every day, and I’ll stop her to-morrow, and ask her!  She’s always friendly to me.”

Mayor Costello had returned to his paper.  But a few hours later, when all the children except Gertrude were settled for the night, and Gertrude, in a state of milky beatitude, was looking straight into her mother’s face above her with blue eyes heavy with sleep, he enlightened his wife further concerning the Hammonds.

“He was with me at the shop,” said the Mayor, “and I never was sorrier to let any man go.  But it seemed like his wife’s death drove him quite wild.  First it was fighting with the other boys, and then drink, and then complaints here and there and everywhere, and Kelly wouldn’t stand for it.  I wish I’d kept him on a bit longer, myself, what with his having the two children and all.  He’s got a fine head on him, and a very good way with people in trouble.  Kelly himself was always sending him to arrange about flowers and carriages and all.  Poor lad!  And then came the night he was tipsy, and got locked in the warehouse—­”

“I know,” said Mrs. Costello, with a pitying shake of the head, as she gently adjusted the sleeping Gertrude.  “Has he had a job since, Frank?”