Uncle John reached Willing Square before Patsy and her father returned, but soon afterward¹ they arrived in an antiquated² carriage surrounded by innumerable bundles.  
"The driver's a friend of mine," explained the Major, "and he moved us for fifty cents, which is less than half price. We didn't bring a bit of the furniture or beds, for there's no place here to put them; but as the rent at Becker's flat is paid to the first of next month, we'll have plenty of time to auction³ 'em all off."
 
The rest of the day was spent most delightfully⁴ in establishing themselves in the new home. It didn't take the girl long to put her few belongings⁶ into the closets and drawers, but there were a thousand little things to examine in the rooms and she made some important discovery at every turn.
 
"Daddy," she said, impressively, "it must have cost a big fortune to furnish these little rooms. They're full of very expensive things, and none of the grand houses Madam Borne has sent me to is any finer than ours. I'm sure the place is too good for us, who are working people. Do you think we ought to stay here?"
 
"The Doyles," answered the Major, very seriously, "are one of the greatest and most aristocratic families in all Ireland, which is the most aristocratic country in the world. If I only had our pedigree I could prove it to you easily. There's nothing too good for an Irish gentleman, even if he condescends⁷ to bookkeeping to supply the immediate⁸ necessities of life; and as you're me own daughter, Patricia, though a Merrick on your poor sainted mother's side, you're entitled to all you can get honestly. Am I right, Uncle John, or do I flatter myself?"
 
Uncle John stroked the girl's head softly.
 
"You are quite right," he said. "There is nothing too good for a brave, honest girl who's heart is in the right place."
 
"And that's Patsy," declared the Major, as if the question were finally settled.
 
On Monday morning Mary had a dainty breakfast all ready for them at seven o'clock, and Patsy and her father departed with light hearts for their work. Uncle John rode part way down town with them.
 
"I'm going to buy my new suit, today, and a new necktie," he said.
 
"Don't let them rob you," was Patsy's parting injunction. "Is your money all safe? And if you buy a ten dollar suit of clothes the dealer⁹ ought to throw in the necktie to bind¹⁰ the bargain. And see that they're all wool, Uncle John."
 
"What, the neckties?"
 
"No, the clothes. Good-bye, and don't be late to dinner. Mary might scold."
 
"I'll remember. Good-bye, my dear."
 
Patsy was almost singing for joy when she walked into Madam Borne's hair-dressing establishment.
 
"Don't take off your things," said the Madam, sharply, "Your services are no longer required."
 
Patsy looked at her in amazement¹¹. Doubtless she hadn't heard aright.
 
"I have another girl in your place," continued Madam Borne, "so I'll bid you good morning."
 
Patsy's heart was beating fast.
 
"Do you mean I'm discharged?" she asked, with a catch in her voice.
 
"That's it precisely¹²."
 
"Have I done anything wrong, Madam?"
 
"It isn't that," said Madam, pettishly¹³. "I simply do not require your services. You are paid up to Saturday night, and I owe you nothing. Now, run along."
 
Patsy stood looking at her and wondering what to do. To lose this place was certainly a great calamity¹⁴.
 
"You'll give me a testimonial, won't you, Madam?" she asked, falteringly¹⁵.
 
"I don't give testimonials," was the reply.
 
"Do run away, child; I'm very busy this morning."
 
Patsy went away, all her happiness turned to bitter grief. What would the Major say, and what were they to do without her wages? Then she remembered Willing Square, and was a little comforted. Money was not as necessary now as it had been before.
 
Nevertheless, she applied¹⁶ to one or two hair-dressers for employment, and met with abrupt¹⁷ refusals. They had all the help they needed. So she decided¹⁸ to go back home and think it over, before taking further action.
 
It was nearly ten o'clock when she fitted her pass-key into the carved door of Apartment D, and when she entered the pretty living-room she found an elderly lady seated there, who arose to greet her.
 
"Miss Doyle?" enquired¹⁹ the lady.
 
"Yes, ma'am," said Patsy.
 
"I am Mrs. Wilson, and I have been engaged to give you private instruction from ten to twelve every morning."
 
Patsy plumped down upon a chair and looked her amazement.
 
"May I ask who engaged you?" she ventured to enquire²⁰.
 
"A gentleman from the bank of Isham, Marvin & Co. made the arrangement. May I take off my things?"
 
"If you please," said the girl, quietly. Evidently this explained why Madam Borne had discharged her so heartlessly. The gentleman from Isham, Marvin & Co. had doubtless interviewed the Madam and told her what to do. And then, knowing she would be at liberty, he had sent her this private instructor²¹.
 
The girl felt that the conduct of her life had been taken out of her own hands entirely^............