"I'll tell you what," said Murtagh, when they were once more at home. "I told Nessa I'd tell her everything this evening. You see, I thought it would be all right by then; and supposing we went down and told her now, and got her to help us."

The others were silent; it was rather a bold proposal.

"She'd like us to, you know," suggested Murtagh. "I think she'd understand about things."

"All right," said Winnie, after considering a minute. "I think that's best. She might know of some plan."

"Let us go, then," said Murtagh. "Whatever we do we ought to be quick about."

It was easy to be quick about getting to the drawing-room door, but there they paused. Then taking their courage in their two hands they somewhat shamefacedly entered the room. Nessa, with a big dictionary in her lap, was sitting reading Italian by the fire, and she paid little attention to their entry.

They none of them knew how to begin, but stood upon the hearth-rug alternately looking at her and glancing inquiringly at each other. The longer the silence lasted the more impossible did it seem to break it. At last Winnie began to poke the fire, and that gave Murtagh courage.

"I say," he began. But then Winnie stopped poking to listen to him, and the dead silence was too disconcerting; he stopped short as suddenly as he had begun.

"What were you going to say?" asked Nessa, raising her eyes from her book. And then in sudden surprise at the perturbed countenances of the children, she exclaimed, "Why, what is the matter?"

"Well," said Murtagh, plunging without further hesitation into his subject, "we don't know what to do, and we want to talk to you. We've been thinking about you, and we thought, you know, that you're different somehow. I mean we thought you'd think true about things instead of only about 'Christian' and 'mischief,' and 'young ladies and gentlemen.' I mean," he continued, contracting his forehead as he puzzled himself with his own attempt to explain, "it's so queer the way people are. If things are kind, or brave, or anything, then they talk about young ladies and gentlemen; and the things seem all wrong, somehow—but they aren't really wrong, you know, all the time; only it makes me get in such a rage."

"I—I don't think I quite understand," said Nessa, fairly bewildered in her attempt to follow the meaning of his somewhat complicated preamble.

"Well, I mean—" said Murtagh. "We've got Theresa, you know."

"You have what?" exclaimed Nessa, more puzzled than ever.

"I beg your pardon. It's very stupid of me," she said apologetically; "but I really don't understand. It must be some English I don't know."

"No, no," said Murtagh. "You'll be able to understand quite well. We'll tell you how it happened, and then you'll see. It was the day after you came. We were going up the river fishing; and Ellie couldn't—Win, you tell it; you'll tell it better than me."

Nessa's amazement, when she began to understand, was unbounded. She did not know children ever did things like that. But before the end of the story her warmest sympathies were enlisted in their cause.

"You see," said Murtagh, when Winnie had described the way in which Mr. Plunkett had received their request, "we never thought about anything except that horrible stepfather, and how nice it would be taking her back with the rent and all. And you remember the way Mrs. Daly talked about her husband on Sunday. Well, of course, that only made us think of it more. But Mr. Plunkett always manages to make everything seem wicked, and he makes me wicked in reality. The very feel of him in the air makes me angry before he speaks a word. I do hate him so!"

"Yes," said Nessa, looking troubled. "It is wicked to hate. I wish you would not feel like that, because then you are wrong, too. And listen," she continued, "I am sure the reason why he is so disagreeable is only because he does not understand."

"He never does understand," returned Murtagh, vehemently. "He doesn't choose to understand; he likes to be unjust!"

With a sudden impulsive movement she threw her arms round his neck. "Don't be like that," she said in her sweet, pleading voice; "please don't. It is such a pity."

Murtagh had drawn himself up in his anger. At Nessa's caress his muscles relaxed, his face lightened with a slow trembling. Then, possessing himself of one of her hands, he kissed it without a word.

It was not in the least like a child's answer. For the second time that day Nessa felt as though Murtagh were somehow older than she. She looked at him with a sort of surprise, but the strange expression was already gone, and the face he turned up to her was full of affectionate gratitude.

"And now," she said, "let us count our resources." She drew a little green leather purse from her pocket, and emptied its contents. "But I have not enough," she added, looking up almost apologetically. "How much money have you?"

"I've got a shilling," said Rosie.

"I've only twopence," said Winnie; "Bobbo has a penny halfpenny."

"I haven't any," said Murtagh, shaking his head.

Little Ellie, who had been sitting on the rug, gazed attentively at Nessa and the money, and then got up and trotted silently out of the room.

"Well, that is all," said Nessa, "we must do the best we can with it."

"Yes, but," said Murtagh, "we don't want to take your money. It isn't right you should give it."

"You see it is a good thing to have an elder sister," replied Nessa.

"And besides, Murtagh," said Rosie, "if you won't take Theresa home without the rent, it really is the only way. I don't like taking your money either," she added, coloring and turning towards Nessa, "but what can we do? We haven't got any except one and twopence halfpenny."

"I should think you very unkind," said Nessa, seriously. "But," she added, "even with your money we have not enough."

"Well, then," exclaimed Murtagh, decidedly, "we can't take her back without the whole rent. We must just hide her up in the mountains, in some safe place, and nobody on earth can make us say where she is if we don't choose."

"Oh, Murtagh!" exclaimed Nessa, "you don't know what you are saying. It would be enough to kill Mrs. Daly. Even if you had not a sou, you must take Theresa back at once. You don't know—" Nessa's voice was choked, she could not finish her sentence. She had witnessed the grief of the patient desolate mother. Only yesterday the poor woman had said to her with quiet hopelessness, "Yes, Ma'am, I'm dying—thank God."

And they could talk of prolonging the pain.

"You don't know," she said. "You meant to be kind, and you did do all you could. But—Mrs. Daly loves Theresa."

She did not trust herself to say any more. Murtagh was looking at her in consternation. Then all they had done had been a mistake. His eyes sought Winnie's. Poor children, they were sorely disappointed!

But Nessa had hardly finished speaking when the door was pushed open, and little Ellie rushed into the room shaking a tin money-box up and down.

"Ellie's dold money! Ellie's dold money!" she exclaimed triumphantly. Her little face was beaming with excitement, and running up to Murtagh she thrust the money-box into his hands.

"Ellie'll dive the money; det it out with the scissors," she said.

"Dear little Ellie!" exclaimed Nessa, taking the child in her arms, while Murtagh tried with a pair of scissors to extract the money from the box.

"It's her half-sovereign that Cousin Jane gave her last Christmas," exclaimed Winnie. "Donnie's kept it for her all this time."

"It's Ellie's own dold money," said Ellie, with her arms tight round Nessa's neck.

"Three cheers for Ellie," Murtagh cried, tossing the money-box up to the ceiling as a glittering half-sovereign fell out upon the table. "It's just right now."

"We want one halfpenny more," said practical Winnie.

"Ellie's dot a ha'penny, too," exclaimed the child, in delight, wriggling herself down on the floor, "out in the darden."

"That's a rum place for halfpennies," remarked Bobbo.

"It's planted," said Ellie. "For seed," she added gravely, seeing the others inclined to smile.

The children all began to laugh, and Rosie exclaimed, "You little silly! you don't suppose money grows from seed, do you?"

"Me thought ha'pennies might," she murmured, and hid away behind Nessa.

"I think it is true," said Nessa. "We do plant money for seed, sometimes. Only not exactly in the garden," she added, smiling as she kissed little Ellie.

And now there lay the much-wished-for two pounds on the table, and the children were free to take Theresa home that minute. A load was off their minds, and the relief was so great that at first they could hardly realize it, but they did not feel happy as they had expected.

They did not know how it was; it did not seem to be their fault; but glad as they were to be so near the end of their troubles, it was without any feeling of pleasurable excitement that they gathered the money and went to set Theresa free.

Theresa, however, felt nothing but the wildest delight. Bobbo burst into the room where she was hidden, exclaiming, "We've got it, Theresa; we've got it." Then Rose followed rattling the money in her hands, and Theresa, who could hardly believe the news at first, saw that it was really true.

"God bless yez all!" she exclaimed, seizing hold of Murtagh's hands. Half-laughing, half-crying with excitement, she tried to get out some more words of thanks, but could say nothing. Then exclaiming, "Glory be to God," she suddenly sank down upon her knees and burst into tears.

But they were tears of gladness and were over quickly. Drying her eyes with her apron, she sprang up again and ran towards the door, saying delightedly, "My mother! Let's run down to her quick. Ah, sure, won't she be glad to see us!"

The children followed with pleased faces, and as they trooped down the stairs Theresa poured out expressions of her thanks and of her delight at getting home.

"Ah, I'll never be able to thank yez right. Let us go on a bit quicker," she was exclaiming, when they rushed round a corner of the passage and nearly knocked Mrs. Donegan off her legs as she was coming slowly along, carrying a cup of tea for Nessa.

"By all the blessed saints and martyrs, and is that you, Theresa Curran?" she exclaimed. "Riz up from the dead, with the police after you, and the master himself payin' your expenses, an' all."

"Take a good look at her, Donnie, while you're about it. It'll be a long time before you see any one else risen up from the dead, with the police after them, and the master paying their expenses," laughed Murtagh.

The children, without waiting for more, carried her off like a whirlwind towards the drawing-room.

Donnie followed close upon their heels. "Miss Nessa, did ye ever hear of such a thing?" she exclaimed, as the children presented Theresa with an unceremonious "Here she is."

Theresa stood blushing with such a supremely happy face, and the children around her were all so radiant, that the infection spread to Nessa, who laughed like a child as she answered in the words Donnie was so fond of using, "They're wonderful children."

"What is it?" inquired Mrs. Donegan. "Did they find her when the police couldn't?"

"That's it exactly, Donnie," laughed Winnie. "Nessa, don't stand palavering with Donnie, or we shan't get to Mrs. Daly's till midnight."

"Tum 'long," urged Ellie, pulling Nessa's hand.

"It's wonderful we are entirely," said Murtagh, for a last mock at Donnie as they went out of the room.

"Mr. Launcelot's to the backbone," muttered Donnie, lifting up her hands. She stood a minute or two, murmuring, "Well, it's wonderful to think of," then hurried away to the kitchen to tell the great piece of news that Theresa was found, that the children were cleverer than all the police, and found her themselves in no time when once they went to look for her.