ife see any
one look more splendid than Kathleen as she stood with the light of
those big lamps upon her? She is a wonderful girl--so graceful, and with
such a power of eloquence. And she has such a way of just taking you by
storm; and her language is so poetic. Oh, I adore her! She is the sort
of girl that I could die for. If all Irish girls are like her, Ireland
must be a wonderful country to live in."

"But they are not," said Ruth. "Half of them are quite commonplace. She
happens to be rich and beautiful, and to have a taking way; but all the
others are not like her, I am certain of it."

"Anyhow, whether they are or not, I am glad to belong to the society,"
said Susy. "It will give us great fun, and we need not mind now whether
the paying girls are disagreeable to us or not. Then, too, think of the
blouses we have got. Oh dear! oh dear! when I put mine on on Sunday
mother will gape. I shall feel proud of myself in it. It was just sweet
of her to get things like this to give us. And she knew we weren't well
off. Oh, I do think she's one in a thousand! She must have thought of
you, Ruth, when she ordered these sweet pale-blue colors, for that color
is yours, isn't it?"

"I suppose so," said Ruth. "Well, all the same, I feel rather anxious. I
like her, of course, but I think she is mistaken. I must go on now, but
I feel somehow----"

"What?" said Susy, with some impatience.

"As though I had not done right--as though I had something to conceal.
Well, I can't help myself, only I won't hate the girls who are good to
me. Good-night, Susy. We won't be in time for school in the morning if
we stay talking any longer."

CHAPTER XI.

THE BLOUSE AND THE ROBBERY.

Susy Hopkins shared none of Ruth Craven's scruples. To her the Wild Irish
Girls' Society was all that was lovely. She trod on air as she went down
the street, and when she finally let herself into her mother's little
shop, locked the door after her, and went softly upstairs, her heart was
beating so loud that she hardly knew herself. She slept in a tiny room
just at the back of her mother's; it was sparsely furnished, and had a
sloping roof at one side. The chest of drawers also did duty as a
dressing-table, and there was a small square of looking-glass placed on
the top. Susy had secured a candle in a tin candlestick, with which she
had lighted herself to her bedroom, but when she got there she had no
intention of putting up with such feeble illumin