"A bun fell on my kitten,
She died where she was sittin'----"
sang Sheila, holding up for inspection the blouse she had just finished ironing.
The front doorbell rang, its rusty tone resounding through the house.
"Goodness gracious," exclaimed Mrs. Quinn, smoothing out her apron. Few came to the sombre front door of the old house; somehow instinct seemed always to lead visitors along the flagged walk to the door leading into the cheery kitchen.
Sheila, flying to the door, had guessed in an instant who the callers were! She led Pat and Renée back through the long hall and the injured dog, comfortably established in a basket near the stove, set up a vigorous barking by way of welcome.
"He's all right, or will be as soon as the break mends, mother says! This is my mother, Pat," and Patricia turned from the dog to Mrs. Quinn, who greeted the girls with her cheery smile.
"The children would have him here and I guess the poor dog is glad enough to find a home," she explained, nodding toward the basket which the younger Quinns, with scraps of old carpeting, had made most comfortable.
"Mother says he's an Irish terrier, so let's call him Paddy!" And Paddy, as though he liked and accepted the name, barked and wagged his stump of a tail and tried to jump out of his basket.
With little effort to conceal their curiosity Patricia and Renée were staring about them. Patricia had never seen a kitchen like this before! She could not tell just what made it so different--it might be the neat rows of pretty china dishes on the shelves of the open cupboard, or the shiny tins and pots and pans in the stove corner, or the bright rag rugs on the spotless floor, or the gay patterned cloth across the table at the window, or the blooming plants on the sills framed by crisply ruffled muslin curtains! And Mrs. Quinn, a pink bow at her neck brightening her faded dress and heightening the color of her thin cheeks, looked as though she belonged there with the geraniums and the bright rugs and the spotless dishes! Patricia was thinking that it was just the sort of a room one felt like staying in--and anyone could feel sure that--if there was any sunshine anywhere--it would be slanting across that floor.
Renée was standing with her hands quaintly clasped.