"I—you see, I think I have been very unjust. I am sorry. I—when you said you would rather learn your Catchykism than play cricket, was it because of your leg?" "Oh, don’t bother! I want to go to sleep!" "Please tell me!" the tone was not pleading, but authoritative. "Yes, then!" "I—I’m very sorry," quavered Sheila Pat. "I’m not mostly so nasty," she added extenuatingly. "I didn’t think of that." Stewart was hugging his knees up under his chin. "You see, I kept thinking you must be a goody-goo because of that." "You see," he said haltingly, "I—can’t run quickly—or field—" "No." There was a pause. "Do you think," came the quavering little voice, "you will ever be able to like me?" "Rather!" "Do you like me now?" "Course!" "You may kiss me just once—round by that ear—if you like," said Sheila Pat. "I’ll kiss you twice if I like!" giving her two hearty smacks. "Oh!" said Sheila Pat. Suddenly she perked up. "I shall call you Tommy," she said. "Stewart is like a book." "All right." "You see," her tone was rather uncomfortable, "I did mean—I had quite dessided—you see, I thought I had been very nasty, and I thought you would be very cross, and I did mean to give you—my Pearl—for a whole week—but I don’t want to now." "I wouldn’t take her. Peter’d be awful jealous, you bet!" "So he would," joyfully. "Oh, Tommy, do let’s have a pillow fight!" So it was that the listeners downstairs, with the memory of the small tragic figure that had left them still vividly in their minds, were startled by a sudden uproar of cries and bumps and laughter. Denis, up the stairs in a moment, and joining in the fray in another moment, found a wild Sheila Pat, shining-eyed, squealing with excitement, pelting Stewart with a pillow. He was not surprised, but Mrs. Barclay felt somewhat bewildered. *CHAPTER IX* Sheila Pat came thoughtfully into the room. "Nell," she observed, "we give Sarah a lot of extra work." Nell looked up with an absent eye. She was trying to calculate how much they would be able to spend on toys for their Dublin hospital this year. They were determined not to omit their contribution to the annual Christmas tree and festivities. "We make our own beds," said Molly, virtuously. "But she has to clean out this room to-day; it’s cleanin’ day. And she’s goin’ home this evenin’ to see her mother, and she walks all the way there and back with her young man. You see, if she didn’t, she’d never be walkin’ out with him at all. And she tidies up at home, because her mother’s mostly ailin’, and she bathes every one of her brothers and sisters. There now, Nell O’Brien!" Nell flung aside paper and pencil. "Come on, Atom, we’ll turn this room out ourselves!" "I’ll go and tell Sarah." The Atom trotted contentedly from the room. "Aunt Kezia’s out!" she called back. "How on earth do you begin?" asked Molly, looking helplessly around.