and nine. They stood so well in their classes at school that Mary
resolved that their attendance should not be interrupted during the
interval while a new home was being found for them. She accompanied
them to the school-house, on the morning after the funeral, in order
to explain the situation to their teacher and evince her personal
interest. Miss Burke was a pretty girl two or three years younger than
herself. She looked capable and attractive; a little coquettish, too,
for her smile was arch, and her pompadour had that fluffy fulness
which girls who like to be admired nowadays are too apt to affect. She
was just the sort of girl whom a man might fall desperately in love
with, and it occurred to Mary, as they conversed, that it was not
likely she would remain a public-school teacher long.

Miss Burke evidently knew the art of ingratiating herself with her
pupils. Joe and Frank smiled bashfully, but contentedly, under her
sympathetic, sunny welcome. The two young women exchanged a few words,
the sequel of which was that Mary Wellington accepted the invitation
to remain and observe how the youthful mind was inoculated with the
rudiments of knowledge by the honeyed processes of the modern school
system. While the teacher stepped to the blackboard to write some
examples before the bell should ring, Joe, the elder of the two
orphans, utilized the occasion to remark in a low voice intended for
Mary's ear:

"She's Jim Daly's mash."

Mary, who failed on the instant to grasp the meaning of this piece of
eloquent information, invited the urchin to repeat it, which he did
with the sly unction of one proud of his secret. Mary laughed to
herself. Some girls would have repressed the youthful gossip, but she