Nessa next morning expressed her wish to go and see Mrs. Daly again, and Rosie again volunteered to accompany her.

"What's the use of my going to the island?" she said in answer to the other children's reproaches afterwards. "I can't do Theresa a bit of good, and I hate going there. It makes me miserable. Soon the police'll find out all about it; and we'll just be put in prison."

She went away as she spoke; she didn't want to talk about the affair. She would like to have forgotten it if she could, and she kept close to Nessa all day in order to prevent the others from having an opportunity of reminding her of it.

Her gloomy view depressed the other children not a little, and Rosie's conviction that the police would interfere before long affected them in spite of themselves.

Winnie said, "She didn't believe ladies and gentlemen were ever put in prison, but she was not at all sure."

"Isn't it dreadful?" she said, "waking up in the morning and thinking of it first thing."

"Yes," said Murtagh; "and all day long, too; I can't manage to forget it at all, but we've just got to hold on. We must be able to see old Plunkett soon now, and as for feeding her, we can always manage that somehow. It's no use thinking about the police. If they're going to come, why, they'll have to come, that's all."

So they cheered each other as best they could till Winnie suddenly exclaimed: "Oh, yes, Myrrh, and I'd nearly forgotten. I thought of such a good plan for Theresa to do while she has to stay there. You know her mother's ill with compunction, or some name like that, and she ought to be kept very warm; so I thought supposing Theresa made her some flannel jackets while she's up there. I know how to cut one out, and we can get the needles and thread and things out of Donnie's basket."

"Where are you going to get your flannel?" asked Murtagh, laughing. "Because they'll be rather queer jackets if they're made of needles and thread."

"I've thought of that, too," replied Winnie, triumphantly. "Come along;" and she jumped up from the staircase where she was sitting and danced into the boys' room.

"We'll have two of your flannel shirts," she explained, as she went down on her knees before a great chest of drawers and began to pull at the handles of the linen drawer.

"Well done, Winnie, you are a brick; I never knew any one like you for thinking of things!" exclaimed Murtagh, heartily, helping her to get the drawer open. "Here, take these two new scarlet ones; they're the biggest; and besides, all the others are in rags. Now for the needles; you fetch them, and I'll run out with these for fear Donnie catches us. Won't she be in a temper when she finds out they're gone?"

"Oh, she'll never miss them," replied Winnie; "and besides, we're only taking them for a poor person, so of course it's all right."

Right or wrong the shirts were speedily conveyed to the hut; and, busy with her work, Theresa was happier when the children left her for the night than she had been since the day of their meeting.

Thus another day went by. In vain the children hung round the Red House; Mr. Plunkett did not appear. But the end of their adventure came upon them more suddenly than they expected. On Wednesday morning they had for very idleness sauntered into the drawing-room where Nessa was engaged in rearranging the flowers, and, congregated round a little table by the window, they were watching her operations, when Donnie appeared in the doorway.

"I've brought you up the drop of soup I promised you, Miss Nessa. But the poor woman won't care much about soup this day, for it's all out about the child. The police have gone up now to search the place."

The words fell like a bomb among the children.

"What!" exclaimed Murtagh. Rosie flushed to the roots of her hair, and stooped to pick up some fallen leaves. Winnie, with two bright red spots in her cheeks, started from her seat, while Donnie, without waiting for any questions, continued:

"The miller from the mill up there by Armaghbaeg came down this mornin', and he'd never heard a word about it before. But directly he heard what all the people are saying he went straight off and gave his evidence at the police office; how last Friday night—the very day she was missing—he heard a most awful shrieking and screaming coming from somewhere about the island up there in the river. He and his wife heard it together, an' made their blood run cold in the bed; and he said to his wife, 'Kitty,' says he, 'I'd better be going to see what it is;' and she laid her hand on him, an' says she, ''Deed an' ye will not. If there's base people about, you'd better stop an' take care o' them that belong to you.' So he stopped with her, and sure enough it must have been Theresa they heard. So one lot of the police are going to take up Pat Foy, and there's more going up to search in the island and thereabouts."

"But they haven't found Theresa, then!" exclaimed Winnie, catching at the hope.

"Found her!" echoed Mrs. Donegan, shaking her head. "Poor child, it's little they'll ever find of her again! That's my belief."

"Oh, we must go out!" exclaimed Winnie, unable any longer to hide her excitement. "Come along." And before either Nessa or Donnie could ask them a question they were running quickly across the lawn and down the avenue. Once pausing for breath, Winnie said, "We shall get there first if they didn't start till Donnie told us!" But no one answered; they wanted all their breath for running.

They went down through the village, for the road was the shortest way. People were standing about in knots talking, but the children did not dare to ask if the police had started yet. As they passed the police-station they glanced hastily in, but naturally they saw nothing that could tell them whether they were or were not in time.

Bobbo felt his legs tremble as he thought that perhaps before evening he would be locked up there. He did not exactly know why it was such a dreadful thing to have hidden Theresa, but only felt that if the police found her something awful would happen to them. The prospect seemed to him very unpleasant.

"Oh, Murtagh!" he exclaimed, with tears starting to his eyes, but Murtagh answered without looking round: "Come on; let's keep together," and quickened his own pace as he spoke.

Bobbo swallowed his tears, and after that the four pairs of legs went steadily, patter, patter, along the road, and not another word was spoken.

Turn after turn was passed. No police yet. At last the island was in sight, and the ground lay clear between them and it.

"In time!" exclaimed Murtagh.

But they were not sure yet; they might be altogether too late, and find the island empty. They dashed through the little wood, scrambled down the bank, crossed the river, and stood at last before the door of the hut. Theresa was there, sitting quietly working at the flannel jacket.

"Holy Virgin! what has happened?" she exclaimed. "Mr. Murtagh, Miss Winnie? What is it? Is me mother dead? Will one of you tell me?"

But the relief of finding her safe was too great for words to be possible. Murtagh and Winnie stood trembling, while Rose fairly burst into tears.

"Ah, what is it? Will one of you tell me?" implored Theresa, wringing her hands. "It's me mother; I know it is! Oh, whatever did I ever come up here for? Let me go to her!" And she started up to go.

Murtagh shook his head, and stretched out his hand to prevent her.

"Can't one of ye speak?" cried Theresa, passionately. "Miss Rose, tell me; what is it?" And Rose thus appealed to dried her tears, and found words to tell that the police would be up there in a few minutes.

Winnie recovered herself, and added: "So we mustn't stay here. Now then, Murtagh, wake up, and think what we are to do next."

Murtagh took up the wooden bowl that stood half-full of water upon the table and drank; then quite himself again, he said:

"Yes, the first thing to be done is to get away from here into one of the shrubberies; we shan't meet any one that way."

On hearing that her mother was as well as usual, Theresa was so relieved that she did not seem to think of anything else; but gathering up her work, she followed Murtagh and Winnie without question or objection.

Though Murtagh had said they would meet no one this way they did not feel safe, and hurried along in silence. Murtagh and Winnie were turning over plans in their heads of what was next to be done.

Bobbo, ashamed of his momentary weakness, began to recover his usual faith in Murtagh. But Rosie could find no comfort anywhere. Tears rolled over her cheeks as she followed the others, and she could think of nothing but the court-house as she had once seen it, with a grave-looking judge on the bench, policemen standing about, women crying, people staring and whispering. Only instead of the prisoner she had seen at the bar she imagined herself, and Murtagh, and Winnie, and Bobbo crowded in together, and her uncle and Nessa looking shocked, and Donnie talking about them. Then Mr. Plunkett would look so disagreeable, and Mrs. Plunkett too, and Cousin Jane would laugh at them, and perhaps they would be shut up in prison all their lives. One thing after another crowded into her mind, and the more she thought the more she cried. They must be found out some day soon.

"After all," said Bobbo, trying to feel brave in order to console her, "perhaps it isn't so bad. I expect Winnie and Murtagh will get us out of it somehow."

"They can't prevent the policemen taking us," returned Rose, dolefully.

"Even if we did get put in prison, I believe Murtagh would get us out somehow," said Bobbo, trying hard to feel really sure of it in his heart.

"Don't talk such nonsense!" replied Rose, crossly, "Murtagh's only a little boy." But she was somewhat consoled nevertheless, and by degrees stopped crying.

In the meantime they had left the river, and passing through a wood came now to the shrubbery where Winnie and Murtagh had arranged together that they might hide, and talk over plans, in a great Portuguese laurel.

"Now," said Winnie, when they were all safely in, "have you thought of anything, Murtagh?"

"I don't exactly know," replied Murtagh, slowly. "There's the mountains, but it would be awfully difficult to manage about her food."

"I won't do another single thing," interrupted Rose. "I told you long ago you ought to have told Mrs. Daly on Sunday. Then we'd never have got into all this dreadful scrape."

"Well, but, Rose," said Murtagh, in a supernaturally gentle voice that he sometimes used when Rosie seemed to him quite unreasonable, "you know we couldn't tell on Sunday when we hadn't got the rent. It would have been worse to let her go home then than on Friday."

"I don't know anything about the rent," returned Rose. "All I know is, it would have been much better if you'd done what I said; then we'd never have been so miserable."

"Don't talk like a fool!" ejaculated Winnie, impatiently, while Murtagh said:

"But don't you see, Rose, that would have been as bad as murder, if we'd let her be killed."

"I don't see anything," answered Rose. "I only think this is the most dreadful thing we ever had, and I wish to goodness anything would happen, I'm so wretched. And I think it's very silly of you and Winnie ever doing it. You're only little children, and if people are going to be killed, children can't prevent it."

Here Rose began to cry again and Murtagh turned to Winnie with a despairing—"What shall we do? It's so awfully difficult to settle. I keep on thinking of plans, but—O dear! when will that tiresome Mr. Plunkett get well! Bobbo, did you go and ask about him this morning?"

"Yes; they said he was coming down-stairs this afternoon, but I asked when we'd be able to see him again, and Biddy only grinned, and said, 'Maybe a month o' Sundays, and maybe next week.'"

"O dear!" sighed Winnie, really for once in her life at her wit's end. "What can we do? Can you say any plan, Murtagh?"

"The only thing we can do," said Rose, suddenly stopping her tears, "is just to take Theresa back to Mrs. Daly's now, and tell her all about it. I'm sure it's much the best plan. We haven't got anywhere to put Theresa. She can't stay here in the laurel all night. Soon Donnie'll be asking what we do with all the scraps she gives us, and I don't believe if we keep her here till doomsday that we'll ever get the money from Mr. Plunkett."

"Oh, Mr. Murtagh!" exclaimed Theresa, piteously, "ye won't be sending me home now without the rent."

Murtagh gave no answer but a puzzled sigh, while Rose continued: "It's just every bit as unkind to Theresa keeping her here as it is to us. You can't do her one scrap of good. You'll only make her stepfather angrier and angrier when she goes home for every day you keep her here—and there isn't a bit of sense keeping her here when there's nothing to keep her for.

"Don't you see, it would be silly of us if we went on keeping her here? It would take us years and years before we saved up two pounds out of our Saturday money, and we couldn't possibly hide her for years and years. So what is the good of keeping her any longer? If her stepfather is really going to beat her, he'll only do it worse for her staying away. He daren't kill her. If he does, we'll tell the police about him; besides, I'm quite sure he won't. And then it is so dreadful hiding her. I'm quite certain the police will find out about it soon, and they'll come and take us and put us into prison, and perhaps it will be us will be killed." At the thought Rosie's tears began to flow again. "It is so dreadful going to prison. I can't bear it; and if we could get her back to Mrs. Daly's now, before the police find out anything, it would be all right."

Theresa had listened intently to every word, and now with a white face, and a wild, resolute look in her eyes, she stood up and said:

"I'm going home. Will ye let me pass, if ye please, Miss Rose?"

Rose eagerly stood on one side and held back the branches, but Winnie sprang from the seat and caught Theresa's dress, while Murtagh exclaimed:

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," said Theresa, "I'd rather go home. It don't matter what happens to the likes of me."

"It does matter," returned Murtagh, vehemently. "You shan't go home."

"I don't want to be havin' yez taken to prison for a poor omadhaun like me," repeated Theresa, trying to tear her dress away from Winnie's firm hold.

"I don't care what you want; you shall stay where you are till we can do something to help you," returned Murtagh, pulling her into the centre of the bush again, while Winnie, turning to Rose, said with flashing eyes:

"I think you're a selfish coward, with your sneaking plans, and I wish with all my heart that you weren't my sister, so I do."

"I don't believe you are our sister," added Murtagh, passionately. "If papa heard you, he'd never speak to you again all the days of your life. And look here—if you do turn traitor, and let out one single word of what we do, I'll—" He stopped himself suddenly, and Theresa, frightened at the storm she seemed to have raised, put her hand on his arm with an imploring, "Mr. Murtagh, dear."

Rosie burst into tears again, and sobbed out that they were very unkind. After that no one spoke. For some minutes Rosie's sobs were the only sound. Then Winnie said: "I have a plan, Murtagh. How do you think this would do? Supposing we were to hide her in one of the empty rooms of the house just for the present, and then go this afternoon and get to see Mr. Plunkett somehow, and get the rent?"

"Yes, that's the best," said Murtagh, glad to seize any chance of bringing the affair to an end without deserting Theresa.

"Come then," said Winnie, making her way out of the bush. "Run on in front, Bobbo, and see if the road's clear."

"There now," said Bobbo, turning to Rose, "I think that's a good plan; don't you? It'll soon be all over now."

"It would be much better if they took her to Mrs. Daly," replied Rose, sulkily, turning her back upon them all, and beginning to move slowly towards the house.

They managed to smuggle poor Theresa into an empty room, close to their own bedrooms, and having done that they had next to summon up all their courage for the meeting with Mr. Plunkett.

"What shall we say to him, Win?" asked Murtagh, sitting on the banisters of the stairs leading down from their rooms.

"I don't know exactly," said Winnie; "Rosie always talks to him best."

"I hate talking civilly to him," remarked Murtagh, meditatively.

"Let Rosie do it," suggested Bobbo.

"I don't suppose she will," returned Murtagh, with a glance towards the girls' room where Rosie had remained. "Besides—"

"She may just as well be of some use," said Winnie. "It's all because of her that we have to do it in such a hurry." Then raising her voice, she called—"Rosie!"

"Well?" returned Rosie from the bedroom.

Winnie waited for Rosie to come, but seeing that she did not, she called again—"Look here!"

"Well, what do you want?" returned Rosie, without moving.

"Come out here. We can't go shouting secrets all over the house."

"I don't want to have any secrets," replied Rosie.

"All right; don't then," answered Winnie.

Murtagh muttered—"Little brute," adding after a pause, "Which of us two is the best for talking?"

"I will, if you like," said Winnie. "After all, I don't care. He's an old nuisance, and it's no use bothering our heads what to say to him. Let's say whatever comes to our tongues."

"It would be a queer saying I'd say if I did that," returned Murtagh. "However, let's go."

But Bobbo never could make up his mind to feel quite comfortable while a quarrel was going on.

"I'll just see again if Rosie won't come," he said. "We had much better keep together."

Though Rosie pretended not to care what Winnie and Murtagh thought of her, she really cared a great deal, and was crying, wishing she had never said anything about taking Theresa home. However, when Bobbo put his head in at the door and began—"I say, Rosie—" she hastily dried her eyes, and her answer "Well?" was as grumpy as ever. She didn't want to make them dislike her more, but she could not help feeling sulky the minute any one spoke to her. Bobbo came into the room, and continued:

"I say, Ro, I wish you'd come, too; you blarney old Plunkett much better than any of us."

"I don't want to go where I'm not wanted," returned Rosie. "Murtagh and Winnie don't like me helping, so I'd rather stay here."

To all Bobbo's persuasions she continued to give the same answer, till at last he took hold of the handle of the door, saying: "Don't be a donkey, Ro; Murtagh and Winnie are different, you know. They don't understand about people being afraid. They think it's so awfully sneaky to be afraid. You'd much better come."

The door-handle had more effect than all Bobbo's eloquence, and Rosie moved away from the window as she answered again, "I don't want to go where I'm not wanted."

"Don't be a duffer. Come along: you'll get round old Plunkett better than any of us," and Bobbo, seeing that he had gained his point, began to walk away.

"I'm sure I want to help Theresa just as much as any one," said Rosie, as she followed him, "but Winnie and Murtagh don't like me to interfere."

"I hope to goodness there will be no women in heaven," ejaculated Murtagh.

"Except me, Myrrh," said Winnie, and then they all went clattering down the staircase.