Theresa and Mrs. Donegan had between them put the children into the brightest of moods, and they completely forgot all the wrong side of their adventure and their misgivings about meeting Mrs. Daly.

At the gates some of the lodge-keeper's children were playing. The instant they saw Theresa, one ran in shouting the news to his mother, and the others set off like deer to the village calling out to every one they met that the young ladies and gentlemen were coming down the road bringing Theresa along with them.

"What a nuisance!" said Rosie. "Now we shan't be the first to tell Mrs. Daly."

"Pat! Mick! Biddy!" shouted Bobbo. "Come back, will you!" But it was no use; they were too far down the road to pay any attention.

"Perhaps that is better," said Nessa. "She is too weak for a great surprise."

But Nessa was not prepared for the effect of having the news spread before them.

Every one, who heard it, first refused to believe, and then were told to go and see for himself; so by the time Theresa and her escort reached the village they were surrounded by a miscellaneous crowd, the members of which, not all quite sober, were wanting to get near Theresa to see if she were there in "real earnest."

With each addition to their party the children's spirits rose higher and higher. They were determined not to satisfy any one's curiosity, and to every question they responded with some bit of nonsense. They knew every one's private history, and bandied jokes with each new-comer till their progress along the road was accompanied by continuous roars of laughter interspersed with a sort of hail of questions.

"Ah, now tell us! How was it ye outwitted the polis an' found her when they couldn't?" called one.

"Outwitted the police!" returned Winnie. "Have you come to your age, Kitty, and don't know yet that the police have got no wits to put out?"

"Thrue for ye, Miss Winnie, asthore; it's me own wits are out to ask such a question!"

"But where did yez find her?" asked another, pushing Kitty aside.

"Why, where the police didn't find her, of course!" laughed Murtagh.

"Then it's plenty o' places ye had to choose from; but tell us now, Mr. Murtagh, honey, how did yez find her? How was she?"

"Pining for a sight of you, Mrs. Malachy," replied Murtagh, turning to the village schoolmistress.

"Sure, Theresa! Is it yer own self come back?" cried a woman from the edge of the crowd. "Tell out now; who was it spirited ye away?"

"The fairies—the good people," cried Rose and Winnie together, while Theresa blushed and laughed.

"Ah, Mr. Murtagh, my jewel, give over jokin' and tell us where ye found her," called Kitty again, having elbowed her way back close to them.

"Wouldn't any one know you're a woman, Kitty?" began Murtagh, when a man on the other side of him interrupted in a heavy voice:

"Don't tell her a word, Mr. Murtagh; she's the curiousest woman in the place."

"And you'd like me to tell you instead," said Murtagh, looking up with a merry twinkle. "Ah, well, if you want to know, it was Miss Winnie's bright eyes did the business."

"But however was it she did it?" asked the man.

"For shame, Phelim. Were you born on April fool's day not to know that?" laughed Murtagh.

"Go to Shuna Toolin an' get her to teach ye," called out several voices amid fresh derisive laughter.

"Tell us round here, Master Bobbo, honey, that niver asked a question," cried a woman, persuasively.

"Well, it was up there by the river, if you want to know so badly," returned Bobbo.

"Up by the river! Why, sure, that's where the police looked and niver found a bit of her!" cried several voices together.

"Don't be insulting us comparing us to those omadhauns of police, that don't know a whisky press when they see one," called Murtagh.

Roars of laughter interspersed with "Arrah whisht, Mr. Murtagh," greeted that remark. Then some one cried out, "Three cheers for the young ladies and gentlemen," and Nessa's bewildered ears were deafened with three loud "Hurrahs."

"Three groans for the polis!" called another.

In the midst of the hearty groan with which he responded to the invitation, Murtagh caught sight of Nessa trying to lift little Ellie out of the crush.

"Carry Miss Ellie, will you, Pat Molony?" he called. Thrusting out two dirty, kindly arms from behind her, Pat Molony lifted Ellie over Nessa's head, saying gallantly: "It's not fit for the likes o' you, Miss, to be carrying childer. It's more like a white lily ye are;" and when Nessa looked round to thank him she saw Ellie contentedly sitting on his shoulder, with one arm round his dirty neck.

In this fashion, joking and laughing, they passed through the village and out on the road close to Mrs. Daly's cabin. Then some ran on to tell her they were coming. At the garden gate Theresa passed them all, and rushed into the cottage alone.

Murtagh and Winnie were close behind her. They overheard a smothered cry, then—"Oh, my darlint! my darlint! is it you yourself?" and there was something in the intensity of the voice that made them suddenly stop short. The laughter died from their faces, and they stood looking at each other. A strange awe had fallen upon them. The noisy laughing crowd seemed far away; they heard only the kisses that were being exchanged in the dark cottage, and children as they were, they understood suddenly something of what the mother had suffered.

They did not think of entering the cottage, and the crowd, seeing them stand still, stood still too. A fear ran through it that they were too late,—that Mrs. Daly had died without seeing her daughter. The noise and laughter were suddenly hushed. Some one said, "What's happened?" Faces were turned anxiously towards the door. While Winnie and Murtagh stood gazing into each other's eyes, there was a dead silence. They neither of them ever forgot that strange hush and the bewildering thoughts that filled it.

The silence was broken by Mrs. Daly's voice saying, "An' where are they till I thank them?"

Then Theresa ran to the door to call them in, and the crowd, seeing that all was right, trooped into the cottage after the children.

Mrs. Daly was sitting up in the bed; Theresa knelt beside her with her arms around her neck.

"I'll never be able to thank yez right," said Mrs. Daly; "but if ye care for a poor woman's blessing, may it follow ye to the end of your days. And may none of ye ever feel the hundredth part of the sorra I've had since she's been gone from me."

"True for ye, Mrs. Daly. May they have peace and happiness all the days of their life for the good turn they've done to the poor this day," cried some from behind with a ring of feeling in their voices.

"But we didn't," said Murtagh to Mrs. Daly—"I mean, we didn't find her to-day. We knew where she was; we helped her to hide from her stepfather when she lost the rent; but she's got it now." He spoke with difficulty, and he was glad to have got it all out.

Mrs. Daly hardly seemed to pay attention to the sense of the words. She had got her arms round Theresa and was thinking only of her.

"It's all one," she answered. "You've brought her back alive, an' I thought she was dead."

A few minutes more and the children had left the cottage. The crowd stayed behind anxious to hear at last Theresa's story, and they walked soberly along the road with Nessa.

"Isn't it delightful," said Rosie, "to think that it's all so well over?"

"Berry belightful," returned Ellie, so emphatically that she made them all laugh. But then she wanted to know—"What for all the people were laughin'?" and while Rose explained, the other children walked on silently.