O'Brien cottage on the instant.

There might have been some whisperings and soft commands; but then, in a
moment, a good-looking, black-haired girl, in a clean apron and with her
sleeves rolled up over her dimpled elbows, opened the front door.

"You're Norah O'Brien, I know," said Nancy, putting out her hand.

"You're a good guesser, Miss," returned the girl, who might have been
sixteen or seventeen. "And who might you be--and the other pretty lady?"

"Why--didn't Scorch tell you----"

"Sarsfield, do ye mane?" asked Norah, her eyes twinkling.

"I mean Scorch O'Brien," declared Nancy.

"Patrick Sarsfield is his name," declared Scorch's big sister. "Here! P.
Sarsfield O'Brien!" she shouted into the house. "It's coompany ye've
got."

"Gee!" drawled the voice of the red-haired youth. "What did they come to
the door for?" and he made his appearance, looking very sheepish.

"How could you expect us to whistle, Scorch?" demanded Nancy, while
Jennie bubbled over with laughter. "Girls can't whistle."

"I never thought," admitted Scorch, shaking hands awkwardly with both
visitors.

"Bring thim inter the house, P. Sarsfield," said Norah. "Have ye no
manners?"

"There's too many kids," said the tousled Scorch, who had evidently been
playing with the younger children, too.

"I'll shoo 'em out into the yard," promised Norah, and went away upon
this errand while Scorch ushered his visitors into the tiny front room,
which was evidently kept shut up save when the priest came, or some
special visitor.

The girls sat down on the stiffly-placed chairs and looked about at the
portraits of Mr. and Mrs. O'Brien when they were first married--he very
straight and stern-looking in his policeman's uniform, with very yellow
buttons, and Mrs. O'Brien with very red cheeks and much yellow jewelry
painted into the picture by the artist at the bride's request. Mrs.
O'Brien had never owned any trinket of more value than her wedding ring!

There was a wreath of everlastings in a glass case, which had lain on
the good man's coffin. And there was a framed "In Memoriam" card on the
wall, together with a "Rock of Ages" worked on cardboard in red worsted
by Norah herself, no doubt.

Everything was as clean as could be, however. And Nancy, on her part,
was much more interested in the change she saw in Scorch, than in
anything else.

"Why, Scorch! how you've grown!" she exclaimed.

"That's in spite of the way they overwork me at the offi