poor Mary M'Cann, the critter."
Before Lull had time to reply the door was once more opened, and old
Mrs Glover came in, looking very apologetic in the full-skirted,
buff-coloured satin gown that Patsy had made wearable.

"Good mornin' to ye, Lull," she curtsied. "Is that yerself, Mrs
O'Rorke?" She was evidently on the verge of tears. Teressa looked
pityingly at her.

"Och, but the quality does be makin' fun a' the poor," she said. Mrs
Glover's tears brimmed over. "The boyseys has laughed their fill at
me, an' me their ould granny," she quavered. "I'd do anythin' to
oblige, but I hadn't the nerve to come out in thon fur hat: Geordie
said I looked for all the world like an' ould rabbit in it."

"A dacint woman like yerself. I'm sayin', I wonder the childer would
do the like," said Teressa sympathetically. Lull felt her temper
rising, but she was powerless to reply. Teressa invited Mrs Glover to
sit down.

"They're stirrin' weans, an' I'm not aquil for them," Mrs Glover
murmured.

Teressa nodded from the other side of the fire. "Families does be
terrible like other," she said.

"'Deed ay; that's no lie," said Mrs Glover plaintively. "I mind their
ould grandfather afore them; many's the time the people be to curse the
Pope for him afore he'd let them have the wee drap a' soup."

Lull rose in wrath. "Is it the weans ye're namin' wi that ould
ruffan?" she said fiercely--"an' them stitching an' rippin' for a pack
a' crabbit ould women that the saints in glory couldn't plaze."

Teressa and Mrs Glover both got up hastily, full of apologies, but Lull
would not be appeased. She gave them their soup, and sent them off.
"People does be thinkin' quare things," she murmured as she watched
them go. "How an' iver am I going to tell the childer thon?"

She had no need, however, to tell the children. The news came from an
unexpected quarter. Dinner was waiting on the schoolroom table, and
the children, standing by the fire, were still discussing their Dorcas
Society, when there came a tap at the door, and Miss Rannigan, the
rector's niece, walked in.

Miss Rannigan was a little woman, prim and bird-like in her movements.
She came to stay at the Rectory about twice a year, and the children
avoided the place while she was there. She had never been to Rowallan
before, and they thought she must have come to tell them that Mr
Rannigan was dead. Her first words dispelled this fear.

"Fie! oh, fie!" She pointed