“Just like her—­stingy old thing!” said Mrs. Hopkins.

“I don’t want her to get in, I can tell you, mother; and when Kathleen and I were out I told Kathleen that she was a great deal too rich.  She asked me what her means were, and I said I believed she has three hundred pounds put by.  Now, mother, don’t you call that riches?”

“Three hundred pounds!” said Mrs. Hopkins.  “That depends, child.  To some it is wealth; to others it is a decent competence; to others, again, it is poverty.”

“Kathleen didn’t think much of it, mother.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Hopkins, “I have notions in my head.  Maybe this very thing can be turned to good for us; there’s no saying.  I think if your aunt was sure and certain to get into one of those almshouses she might do a good turn to you, Susy; and she’s sure and certain to help Tom a little.  But there! we can’t look into the future.  I am tired out with one thing and another.  Susan, my dear child, where did you get that beautiful pale-blue blouse?”

“I didn’t get it through theft, mother, if that’s what you are thinking of.  I got it honestly, and I am not obliged to tell; and what’s more, I won’t tell.”

Mrs. Hopkins sighed.

“Dear, dear!” she said, and she sat down in the easy-chair which Mrs. Church had occupied and stared into the fire.

“I am not nearly as low-spirited as I was,” she said after a pause.  “If Miss Kathleen will do something for Aunt Church, it stands to reason that Aunt Church won’t be hard on us.”

Susy made no answer to this.  She stood quiet for a minute or two, and then she went slowly upstairs.  She removed the beautiful blouse and put on a common one.  She then wrapped herself in an old waterproof cloak—­for the sunshiny morning had developed into an evening of thick clouds and threatening rain—­and went downstairs.

“Where in the world are you going?” said her mother in a fretful tone.  “I did think you’d sit quietly with me and learn your collect.  If you are going out, it ought to be to church.  I don’t see what call you have to be going anywhere else on Sunday evening.”

“I want to see Ruth Craven.  Don’t keep me, please; it is very important.”

“But I don’t know who Ruth Craven is.”

“Oh, mother, I thought every one knew her.  She is the very, very pretty little granddaughter of old Mr. Craven, who lives in that cottage close to the station.”

“A handsome old man, too,” said Mrs. Hopkins, “but I confess I don’t know anything about him.”

“Well, he and his old wife have got this one beautiful grandchild, and she has joined the foundationers at the Great Shirley School.  Miss Kathleen O’Hara has taken up with her as well as with me and other foundation girls, and instead of having a miserable, dull, down-trodden life, we are extremely likely to have the best life of any girls in the school.  Anyhow, I have a message for Ruth and I promised to deliver it.”