th of loosely curling hair which shaded a delicate
face, very pointed as to chin and monopolized by a pair of dark eyes,
sad and deep and beautiful. A faded blue "jumper" was buttoned tightly
across the narrow chest; frayed trousers were precariously attached to
the "jumper," and impossible shoes and stockings supplemented the
trousers. Glancing from boy to bottle, the "comp'ny mit whiskers" asked:

"What's this for?"

"For you."

"What's in it?"

"A present."

Mr. O'Shea removed the cork and proceeded to draw out incredible
quantities of absorbent cotton. When there was no more to come, a faint
tinkle sounded within the blue depths, and Mr. O'Shea, reversing the
bottle, found himself possessed of a trampled and disfigured sleeve link
of most palpable brass.

"It's from gold," Morris assured him. "You puts it in your--'scuse
me--shirt. Wish you health to wear it."

"Thank you," said the Honorable Tim, and there was a tiny break in the
gloom which had enveloped him. And then, with a quick memory of the
note and of his anger:

"Miss Bailey, who is this young man?"

And Teacher, of whose hobbies Morris was one, answered warmly: "That is
Morris Mogilewsky, the best of boys. He takes care of the gold-fish, and
does all sorts of things for me. Don't you, dear?"

"Teacher, yiss ma'an," Morris answered. "I'm lovin' much mit you. I
gives presents on the comp'ny over you."

"Ain't he rather big to speak such broken English?" asked Mr. O'Shea. "I
hope you remember that it is part of your duty to stamp out the
dialect."

"Yes, I know," Miss Bailey answered. "But Morris has been in America for
so short a time. Nine months, is it not?"

"Teacher, yiss ma'an. I comes out of Russia," responded Morris, on the
verge of tears and with his face buried in Teacher's dress.

Now Mr. O'Shea had his prejudices--strong and deep. He had been given
jurisdiction over that particular district because it was his native
heath, and the Board of Education considered that he would be more in
sympathy with the inhabitants than a stranger. The truth was absolutely
the reverse. Because he had spent his early years in a large old house
on East Broadway, because he now saw his birthplace changed to a squalid
tenement, and the happy hunting grounds of his youth grown ragged and
foreign--swarming with strange faces and noisy with strange tongues--Mr.
O'Shea bore a sullen grudge against the usurping race.

He resented the caressing air with w