THE SOCIETY MEETS AT MRS. CHURCH’S COTTAGE

That evening at about a quarter to eight a band of perfectly silent girls might have been seen walking along the road that led to Mrs. Church’s cottage. They walked as much as possible on the grass, and glided in single file. Each one, as they expressed it, had her heart in her mouth. Occasionally they looked behind them; sometimes they started at an ordinary shadow, thinking that a policeman at least would be waiting for them. The foundationers who called themselves the Wild Irish Girls had very little doubt what it would mean if their scheme was discovered. They knew, of course, that Miss Ravenscroft would be furiously angry, that the governors would have something to say to them, and that they might be dismissed from the school unless they promised to cease to belong to the society. Perhaps there were worse things than that. There was a timid little girl called Janey Ford, who whispered to her friend that the Wild Irish Girls belonged to the rebels in Ireland, and that it might be considered necessary by the government of the country to have them taken up and put into prison. Nobody for a single moment believed Janey Ford’s silly remarks, but nevertheless they gave a sort of thrill to the occasion. It was all delightful, this stealing away in the dark, this pressing one against another as they walked down the little road. And then Kathleen was so fascinating; her eyes were so bright; she was such a valiant sort of leader. If they were men and she was a man, Janey Ford had whispered to her great friend Edith Hart, they would follow her to the death.

“We’d form a crusade for her,” Edith had whispered, back. “She is magnificent.”

And then both girls felt the little heart-shaped lockets round their necks and thought of themselves as heroines.

The entire party, numbering about forty-three in all, arrived at the cottage. Susy suddenly put in her appearance.

“Girls,” she said, “it isn’t at all certain that we are safe. I saw a man going by not ten minutes ago, and he looked suspiciously at the house. Miss Ravenscroft would do anything to catch us; but Aunt Church says that if you go into the yard she doesn’t think you will be seen or heard.-May I take the girls into the yard, Kathleen? And may I take you and Miss O’Flynn into the house to see Aunt Church?”

Kathleen nodded in reply. She also felt excited and pleased and completely carried out of herself.

Susy ushered her visitors with great pride and pomp into Mrs. Church’s little sitting-room. Really she felt herself quite rising in the social scale as she saw her old relative dressed in her best, with the manners she used to wear when she was housekeeper at Lord Henshel’s, and with that most appetizing, most recherche tea on the table.

“I will be back in a minute,” said Susy.-“Aunt Church, here they are, and I know you will give them welcome.”

“I am proud to do that,” said Mrs. Church. “I presume I am talking to Miss O’Flynn? Will you take a chair here by the fire, miss? I’m afraid the night is a little bit chilly.-Miss Kathleen, I wish I could get up and offer you a seat, but as it is-

“Oh, nonsense!” said Kathleen. “What are young legs for if not to wait on old legs? Oh, what a heavenly, delicious tea! What is that I see? Honey! Oh, don’t I just adore honey? Don’t you, Aunt Katie?”

“That I do,” said Miss O’Flynn; “and I eat it comb and all. It never yet disagreed with me; but then I’ve got the digestion of an ostrich.”

“Indeed, then, madam, I think you are rather silly to eat the comb,” said Mrs. Church; “and you ought always to put butter on your bread when you eat honey. My poor mother told me so, and I have always followed in her steps. If you butter your bread and don’t eat the comb, honey agrees with you as well as anything else.”

“Mrs. Church,” said Kathleen, “you are perfectly sweet, and I can’t tell you how grateful we are; but we are in something of a hurry, so perhaps you wouldn’t mind telling the rest of that story about butter and honey to Aunt Katie when you are in Ireland. Have you made the tea, Mrs. Church? Shall I make it?”

“The tea is in that little brown caddy,” said Mrs. Church, “and there’s a measuring spoon close to it. I allow-

“Oh, I know,” said Kathleen.

She began to ladle out spoonful after spoonful and put it into the little brown teapot, which she then filled up with hot water. Mrs. Church looked on with a mingled feeling of approval and disapproval. She was being carried completely off her feet. She to give up her dear little neat house in this reckless way; she to give up her most precious tea to be absolutely wasted and practically lost-for Kathleen put in quite three times too much tea into the little teapot; she to forgive Susy’s mother two months of that debt which she owed her. Oh, what did it mean? She was going to be ruined in her old age!

“I’d just like to say, miss,” she said, looking at Miss O’Flynn and then at Kathleen-“I’d like to say that I am willing to help the young ladies, and the old ladies too for that matter, but I want to know if it is settled that I am to have the almshouse and six shillings a week. I am a plain-spoken body and I’d like to know it; for if so it can be done, I ought to give notice to the landlord of this little house, where I have lived in peace and comfort for over twelve years. I’d like to know, and as soon as possible.”

“We have written about it, Mrs. Church,” said Miss O’Flynn. “I wrote to my brother-in-law this very day, and I expect an answer soon. Of course, we can’t tell you to a certainty whether the house is still to be had, but I didn’t hear that it was let. We must hope for the best.”

“And if it is let,” said Kathleen suddenly, running up to the old lady and whispering in her ear, “I’ll get Dad to send me a cheque, and you shall have it, so you won’t lose one way or the other.”

This whisper of Kathleen’s was very soothing to Mrs. Church. She nodded her head twice and said:

“Thank you, dear,” and just then Susy returned, and tea began in real earnest.

While the ladies were enjoying their meal they did not observe that a round boyish face occasionally appeared at the little glass partition which divided Mrs. Church’s sitting-room from her bedroom. The glass reached down about two feet from the ceiling, and was the only light the bedroom had. The boyish face bobbed up now and again, made appealing faces in Mrs. Church’s direction, and then disappeared. Mrs. Church shook her head at the apparition, but for a time no one noticed the circumstance. Then Susy began to observe it.

“What can it mean?” she thought, and she turned and looked.

The face appeared, the tongue now stuck into the cheek, one eye winking furiously.

“Well, I never!” said Susy.

“What are you saying, ‘Well, I never!’ for?” asked Kathleen. “And why do you and Mrs. Church keep gazing up at that ugly glass across the room? What is the glass for?”

“It is the window that lights my bedroom, miss,” said Mrs. Church. “And I don’t see,” she added, “why I may not look at any part of my own house that I take a fancy to.”

“Of course,” said Kathleen. But Tom was now making pantomimic signs for refreshments. He was touching his mouth, which he opened into a round O, pointing at the cake and honey, and going on altogether in a way that distracted poor Susy. And just as Susy looked up Kathleen looked up, and the latter burst into a loud laugh, and said:

“I do declare there’s a boy in there.”

The next instant she had burst into the bedroom and dragged Tom out.

“Oh, you are Tom Hopkins,” she said; “you are Susy’s brother. Now sit down here and have a right good meal. It was silly of you to hide in there; as if we minded.”

“But Kathleen, you ought to mind,” said Susy; “for it would be the very last straw if we were discovered and there is a boy found amongst us. I declare I never felt so nervous in my life.-Do go back to the bedroom, Tom.-Aunt Church, oughtn’t he to go?”

“Come and sit by me,” said Mrs. Church. “And here’s a fresh egg for you. Take your place, Tom; and when the others go into the yard for their foolish mummeries-for I can’t make out that there’s a bit of sense in this scheme from first to last-why, you and I will finish up what is left of the good things.”

“You are a brick, Aunt Church,” said Tom.

He took a seat at the table, and gazed with wonder, delight, and admiration at Kathleen. He told his schoolfellows that at that moment he lost his heart to Kathleen. He said that she bowled him over completely.

“I haven’t a scrap of heart in my body to-day,” he remarked to his chosen friends. “I took it out and put it at her feet; and if you’ll believe me, she spurned it. That’s the way of girls. Don’t you have anything to do with them, boys.”

But the boys only begged more earnestly than ever to have a look at Kathleen. Tom finally promised to secure her photograph by hook or by crook, and to show it to them.

When the meal, which was but a short one after all, came to an end, Miss O’Flynn and Kathleen got up and were preparing to go to the yard at the back of the house, when there came the sound of horse’s hoofs on the stones outside. They stopped at the cottage, and a loud knock at the door was next heard.

“They have come,” said Susy, her face white as a sheet. “I knew they would. I wonder what will happen, Kathleen. Aren’t you awfully frightened?”

“Not I,” said Kathleen. “Why should I be afraid? Whoever is there has nothing to do with us.”

Susy’s state of panic amused both Miss O’Flynn and Kathleen, and Tom was the only one found brave enough to go to the door in answer to the knock. He came back the next instant with a telegram, which was addressed to Miss O’Flynn. She tore it open, and gave a loud scream.

“It’s my poor cousin Peggy Doharty. She has fallen from her horse and has concussion of the brain. I must go to her at once. Oh, alannah, alannah! What is to be done?”

Here Miss O’Flynn turned a face of anguish in Kathleen’s direction.

“It is I that must leave you, my darling,” she said. “I will go back to town with the messenger, get off to London to-night, and cross in the morning. Ah, the creature! And she’s my dearest friend. Let us hope that Providence will spare her precious life. Oh dear, dear, dear! This is awful!”

“I don’t see why you should go, Aunt Katie,” said Kathleen. “I want you very badly indeed just now.”

“Then, my sweet child, come straight away with me to Dublin; for as to leaving Peggy in her hour of extremity, I wouldn’t do it even for you, Kathleen, and that’s saying a good deal.”

“But how can I come? I have my society and-and the school.”

“Well, then, stay, love; only don’t keep me now. Good-bye to you, pet; I haven’t a minute to lose-Tom-is that your name?-go out and tell the messenger that I will go back with him to Merrifield.”

“And what about my almshouse?” screamed out Mrs. Church. “This is a nice state of things, I must say. Who minds what a slip of a young lady says?-meaning no offence to you, miss; but I have been spending my money right and left, getting tea that beats all for gentility, and now one of the ladies is off as it were in a flash of an eye. What about my almshouse?”

Miss O’Flynn looked rather indignant.

“You shall have your almshouse if it can be got. How unfeeling you are to think only of yourself when my dearest friend may be at death’s door. Here’s a sovereign, which will more than cover the expenses of the tea.-Good-bye, Kathleen, core of my heart.-Good-bye, all of you.”

Miss O’Flynn flung a sovereign on the table. Mrs. Church made a grab at it, and held it tightly in her hand, which was covered by a black mitten. The next moment the good lady had departed, and Kathleen, looking thoroughly bewildered, was left alone.

“Dear, dear!” she said. “Yet I am an Irish girl, and I’m not going to show funk. There are all those poor girls waiting in the yard so long. I will go to them at once. Come with me, Susy.”

There were about forty girls in the yard, and they sat close together. The night was sufficiently cold to make them somewhat chill, and the fears which little Janey Ford had put into their hearts began to grow greater and more fixed each moment. When Kathleen appeared all was immediately changed. Susy preceded her, carrying the little paraffin lamp. This was placed on the table which was arranged in the yard for the purpose, and its light fell now on the vivid coloring and beautiful face of the Irish girl. She took off her favorite blue velvet cap and pushed her hand through her masses of radiant hair, and then flung herself into what she was pleased to call an attitude, but which was really a very graceful and natural pose. Then she said, speaking aloud:

“Girls of the society, Wild Irish Girls, I am sorry to tell you that my aunt, Miss O’Flynn-Miss Katie O’Flynn-who I hoped would have joined our numbers to-night, and would have been a perfect rock of strength for us all, has been obliged to suddenly go back to Ireland, owing to an accident that has happened to her dearest friend.”

“Dear, dear, how sad!” said one or two.

“So we are without her, girls,” continued Kathleen. “And now I want to know if you are prepared to stand by me through thick and thin?”

“That we are!” was shouted in one vivid, clear girlish note.

“I am glad to hear it. And if you will stand by me, you may be quite sure that I will stand by you. It is whispered in the school that we are found out, and the school, bless it! is angry. It doesn’t want us, you foundationers and me, to have our fun-our little bit of innocent fun.”

“Very mean of it!” said one or two, while the others groaned.

“It wants to crush us,” continued Kathleen. “We mean the school no harm, and why shouldn’t it let us alone? All we want is our fun, a little bit of liberty, and to show those companions who look down upon us that we are as good as they, and that we will fight for each other, and have our own way, and meet when we please, and do as we like out of school hours. It is a sort of Manifesto of Independence, that is what it is, girls, and I want to know if you will stick to it.”

All the hands were raised up at this juncture, and all the voices said:

“Yes, yes, yes.”

“That’s splendid,” said Kathleen. “I didn’t know I had such an enthusiastic following. Well girls, we’ll have to run a certain risk. We will have to conceal all we can about this society; we’ll have to be true to each other, whatever happens; and we’ll meet wherever we like, girls. Let the head-mistress and the governors say what they please.”

“Hurrah for Kathleen O’Hara! Hurrah for the Wild Irish Girls for ever!” they shouted.

“That’s about it,” said Kathleen. “I called you all to-night to tell you that we are suspected, and we are called insurrectionists; but let them call us what they like.”

“Please,” here put in the timid voice of Janey Ford, “are we likely to be put in prison? For that would break mother’s heart, and do none of us any good.”

“Oh, you little goose!” cried Kathleen, with her ringing laugh. “Not a bit of it. The worst that could happen to us is to be expelled from the school.”

Now this worst, which was really a matter of little importance in the eyes of Kathleen, was somewhat serious to the other girls. To be expelled meant to deprive them of their chance of being well educated and of earning a decent living by-and-by. They all felt very grave, and Kathleen, who had a great power of reading what went on in the hearts of those in whom she was interested, felt somehow that their enthusiasm had abated.

“But nothing will happen,” she cried, “if we are faithful to each other, stand shoulder to shoulder, and do not whatever happens, betray each other. Why girls, Miss Ravenscroft and the governors can do nothing to us unless they have proof, and they will have no proof if we are all true to each other. Now that’s the whole of it for to-night. We’ll meet in the quarry on Saturday night, and then we’ll make a plan for a great expedition all by ourselves to London in the course of next week.”

“Oh dear,” said Susy, “doesn’t it make your heart throb?”

“And I want to add,” continued Kathleen, “that I will frank you. I can’t do it always, but I will on this occasion. Aunt Katie O’Flynn has given me some money for that purpose. So you will stick to me, won’t you girls?”

“That we will!” came from the mouths of all.

“And I am your captain, am I not girls?”

“Indeed you are. We could die for you,” said one or two. “And we’ll never betray you or one another.”