n, with obvious approval. "Do ye think, now,
she might ha' been me aunt?"

A chorus of positive negation settled all further speculation, while
Bridget bluntly inquired. "Honest to goodness, Susan, do ye think the
likes o' ye could belong to the likes o' that?"

Pancho broke the painful silence by reverting to the original topic in
hand. "Mi' Peggie pleasant too," he suggested, smiling adorably.

"But we've not got either of 'em no longer, so they're no good now,"
Peter unfortunately reminded every one.

"Don't ye know there be's always somethin' pleasant to think about if
ye just hunt round a bit, an' things an' feelin's never get that bad ye
can't squeeze out some pleasantment. Don't ye mind the time the
trusters had planned to give us all paint-boxes for Christmas, an' half
of us not able to hold a brush, let alone paint things, an' Miss Peggie
blarneyed them round into givin' us books? Don't ye mind? Now we've
got somethin' pleasant here, right now--" And Bridget smiled.

"What?"

"May Eve."

"What's that?"

"'Tain't nothin'," said Susan, sliding back disappointedly on her
pillow.

"Sure an' it is," said Bridget; "it's somethin' grand."

"'Tain't nothin'," persisted Susan, "but a May party in Cen'ral Park.
Every one takes somethin' ter eat in a box, an' the boys play ball an'
the girls dance round, an' the cops let you run on the grass. I knows
all about it, fer my sister Katie was 'queen' onct."

"We couldn't play ball, ner run on the grass, ner anything," said
Peter, regretfully.

"'Tisn't what Susan says at all," said Bridget, by way of consolation.
"If ye'll harken to me a minute, just, I'll be afther tellin' ye what
it is."

Ward C became instantly silent--hopefully expectant; Bridget had led
them into pleasant places too often for them not to believe in her
implicitly and do what she said.

"May Eve," began Bridget, slowly, "is the night o' the year when the
faeries come throopin' out o' the ground to fly about on twigs o' thorn
an' dance to the music o' the faery pipers. They're all dthressed in
wee green jackets an' caps, an' 'tis grand luck to any that sees them.
And all the wishes good childher make on May Eve are sure to come
thrue." She stopped a moment. "Let's make believe; let's make
believe--" Her eyes fell on the primroses, and for the first time she
recognized them. "Holy Saint Bridget! them's faery primroses!"

Ward C was properly impressed. Eight little figures sa