“We like bein' here; we hope Father won't be comin' back from prison for a long time, so as we can go on stayin' here. Mr. Freeland gives us apples.” The failure of her attempt to put a nicer idea into their heads disconcerted Frances Freeland for a moment only. She said: “Who told you he was in prison?” Biddy answered slowly: “Nobody didn't tell us; we picked it up.” “Oh, but you should never pick things up! That's not at all nice. You don't know what harm they may do you.” Billy replied: “We picked up a dead cat yesterday. It didn't scratch a bit, it didn't.” And Biddy added: “Please, what is prison like?” Pity seized on Frances Freeland for these little derelicts, whose heads and pinafores and faces were so clean. She pursed her lips very tight and said: “Hold out your hands, all of you.” Three small hands were held out, and three small pairs of gray-blue eyes looked up at her. From the recesses of her pocket she drew forth her purse, took from it three shillings, and placed one in the very centre of each palm. The three small hands closed; two small grave bodies dipped in little courtesies; the third remained stock-still, but a grin spread gradually on its face from ear to ear. “What do you say?” said Frances Freeland. “Thank you.” “Thank you—what?” “Thank you, ma'am.” “That's right. Now run away and play a nice game in the orchard.” The three turned immediately and went. A sound of whispering rose busily outside. Frances Freeland, glancing through the window, saw them unlatching the wicket gate. Sudden alarm seized her. She put out her head and called. Biddy came back. “You mustn't spend them all at once.” Biddy shook her head. “No. Once we had a shillin', and we were sick. We're goin' to spend three pennies out of one shillin' every day, till they're gone.” “And aren't you going to put any by for a rainy day?” “No.” Frances Freeland did not know what to answer. Dear little things! The dear little things vanished. In Tod's and Kirsteen's room she found a little table and a pillow, and something that might do, and having devised a contrivance by which this went into that and that into this and nothing whatever showed, she conveyed the whole very quietly up near dear Derek's room, and told darling Nedda to go down-stairs and look for something that she knew she would not find, for she could not think at the moment of any better excuse. When the child had gone, she popped this here, and popped that there. And there she was! And she felt better. It was no use whatever to make a fuss about that aspect of nursing which was not quite nice. One just put the best face upon it, quietly did what was necessary, and pretended that it was not there. Kirsteen had not seen to things quite as she should have. But then dear Kirsteen was so clever.