ows. There were so many of them, and so bold
were they, that an old Italian who could no longer dig, was employed
to sit on a bale of rags and throw things at them, lest they carry off
the whole establishment. When he hit one, the rest squealed and
scampered away; but they were back again in a minute, and the old man
had his hands full pretty nearly all the time. Paolo thought that his
was a glorious job, as any boy might, and hoped that he would soon be
old, too, and as important. And then the men at the cage--a great wire
crate into which the rags from the ash barrels were stuffed, to be
plunged into the river, where the tide ran through them and carried
some of the loose dirt away. That was called washing the rags. To
Paolo it was the most exciting thing in the world. What if some day
the crate should bring up a fish, a real fish, from the river? When he
thought of it he wished that he might be sitting forever on that
string-piece, fishing with the rag-cage, particularly when he was
tired of stitching and turning over, a whole long day.

Besides, there were the real holidays, when there was a marriage, a
christening, or a funeral in the tenement, particularly when a baby
died whose father belonged to one of the many benefit societies. A
brass band was the proper thing then, and the whole block took a
vacation to follow the music and the white hearse out of their ward
into the next. But the chief of all the holidays came once a year,
when the feast of St. Rocco--the patron saint of the village where
Paolo's parents had lived--was celebrated. Then a really beautiful
altar was erected at one end of the yard, with lights and pictures on
it. The rear fire-escapes in the whole row were decked with sheets,
and made into handsome balconies,--reserved seats, as it were,--on
which the tenants sat and enjoyed it.

A band in gorgeous uniforms played three whole days in the yard, and
the men in their holiday clothes stepped up, bowed, and crossed
themselves, and laid their gifts on the plate which St. Rocco's
namesake, the saloon-keeper in the block, who had got up the
celebration, had put there for them. In the evening they set off great
strings of fire-crackers in the street in the saint's honor, until the
police interfered once and forbade that. Those were great days for
Paolo always.

But the fun Paolo loved best of all was when he could get in a corner
by himself, with no one to disturb him, and build castles and things