"Susannah! What are you doing, you young imp of mischief?" exclaimed Ulyth in an agony.
"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."