When Maida got home that night, Billy Potter sat with Granny in the living-room. Maida came in so quietly that they took no notice of her. Granny was talking. Maida could see that the tears were coursing down the wrinkles in her cheeks. “And after that, the poor choild ran away to America and I niver have seen her since. Her father died repenting av his anger aginst her. But ut was too late. At last, in me old age, Oi came over to America, hoping Oi cud foind her. But, glory be, Oi had no idea ’twas such a big place! And Oi’ve hunted and Oi’ve hunted and Oi’ve hunted. But niver a track of her cud Oi foind—me little Annie!” Billy’s face was all screwed up, but it was not with laughter. “Did you ever speak to Mr. Westabrook about it?” “Oh, Misther Westabruk done iv’ry t’ing he cud—the foine man that he is. Adver_tise_ments and _de_tayktives, but wid all his money, he cudn’t foind out a t’ing. If ut wasn’t for my blissed lamb, I’d pray to the saints to let me die.” Maida knew what they were talking about—Granny had often told her the sad story of her lost daughter. “What town in Ireland did you live in, Granny?” Billy asked. “Aldigarey, County Sligo.” “Now don’t you get discouraged, Granny,” Billy said, “I’m going to find your daughter for you.” He jumped to his feet and walked about the room. “I’m something of a detective myself, and you’ll see I’ll make good on this job if it takes twenty years.” “Oh, Billy, do—please do,” Maida burst in. “It will make Granny so happy.” Granny seemed happier already. She dried her tears. “’Tis the good b’y ye are, Misther Billy,” she said gratefully. “Yes, m’m,” said Billy. CHAPTER VII: TROUBLE The next week was a week of trouble for Maida. Everything seemed to go wrong from the first tinkle of the bell, Monday morning, to the last tinkle Saturday night. It began with a conversation. Rosie came marching in early Monday, head up, eyes flaming. “Maida,” she began at once, in her quickest, briskest tone, “I’ve got something to tell you. Laura Lathrop came over to Dicky’s house the other day while the W.M.N.T.’s were meeting and she told us the greatest mess of stuff about you. I told her I was coming right over and tell you about it and she said, ‘All right, you can.’ Laura said that you said that last summer you had a birthday party that you invited five hundred children to. She said that you said that you had a May-pole at this party and a fish pond and a Punch and Judy show and all sorts of things. She said that you said that you had a big doll-house and a little theater all your own. I said that I didn’t believe that you told her all that. Did you?” “Oh, yes, I told her that—and more,” Maida answered directly. “Laura said it was all a pack of lies, but I don’t believe that. Is it all true?” “It’s all true,” Maida said.