"Catching your birds for you, Miss," responded the orphan, a thrill of pride in her voice. "It's bird-lime, this is, and it'll soon stick 'em, you'll see. I knows all about it, for my father was a bird-catcher, and I often went with him when I was a kid. I'd a job to get the lime, I can tell you, but Bobby Jones brought me some from Llangarmon." She looked at Ulyth with a smile, as if waiting for the praise that she deemed due to her efforts. Utterly aghast, Ulyth stammered: "But, Susannah Maude, we--we don't want the birds caught." The orphan appeared puzzled. A shade crossed her sharp little face. "Not want to catch 'em? What's the use of 'em, then? Dad caught 'em and sold 'em." Ulyth had to keep a strong curb over her temper. After all, how could this ignorant child know what she had never been taught? Miss Bowes might well preach patience and forbearance. "It's very cruel to snare the birds with lime at any time, especially now, when they have young ones who would starve without them," she explained with what calm she could muster. "Promise me that you will never try to do such a thing again, and never interfere with any of the nests. Mrs. Arnold will be most grieved to hear of this." The orphan's black eyes filled with tears. "Will she mind? I thought she'd like 'em to keep in a cage as pets. I'd do anything in the world to please her." "Then leave the birds alone, if you want to please her. Run now to the house and fetch me a basin full of hot water and a cloth. I must wipe all this horrible stuff off the bushes. Bring a knife, too, for I shall have to cut away some of the branches and burn them. I hope the tits won't desert." Ulyth was late for school that morning, but the offence was condoned by Miss Teddington when she heard the reason. "I hope you washed every scrap of the lime off?" she asked anxiously. "I didn't leave it while there was enough to catch even a bumble-bee. The birds are back. They came directly I'd gone a dozen yards away." "That shows the young ones are hatched. I hope Susan won't direct her energies into any other natural-history experiments." "We shall be sorry we brought her to the Camp-fire if she does. She means well, but the worst of her is that you never can calculate in the least what she may do next. She's a problem." * * * * *