e, "the two minutes are up."

"I don't care," says Tommy. "I'm tired, and Bridgie said I needn't
hurry."

"The charms of Mr. Mickey Daly are no doubt great," says Dysart, mildly,
"yet I think Bridget must by this time be aware that she wasn't sent out
by your mother to tattle to him, but to take you and your sister to play
with Bertie. Here, Tommy," decisively, "get off your aunt's lap and run
away."

"But why?" demands Tommy, aggressively. "What harm am I doing?"

"You are tiring your aunt, for one thing."

"I'm not! She likes to have me here," defiantly. "I ride a 'cock horse'
every night when she's at home, don't I, Joyce? I wish you'd go away,"
wrathfully, "because then Joyce would come home and play with us again.
'Tis you," glaring at him with deep-seated anger in his eyes, "who are
keeping her here!"

"Oh, no; you are wrong there," says Dysart with a sad smile. "I could
not keep her anywhere, she would not stay with me. But really, Tommy,
you know you ought to go on to the Court. Poor little Bertie is looking
out for you eagerly. See," plunging his hand into his pocket, "here is
half a crown for you to spend on lollipops. I'll give it to you if
you'll go back to Bridget."

Tommy's eyes brighten. But as quickly the charming blue in them darkens
again. There is no tuck shop between this and the Court.

"'Tisn't any good," says he mournfully, "the shop's away down there,"
pointing vaguely backward on the journey he has come.

"You look strong in wind and limb; there is no reason to believe that
the morrow's sun may not dawn on you," says Mr. Dysart. "And then think,
Tommy, think what a joy you will be to old Molly Brien."

"Molly gives me four bull's-eyes for a penny," says Tommy reflectively.
"That's two to Mabel and two to me, because mammy says baby mustn't have
any for fear she'd choke. If there's four for a penny, how many is there
for this?" holding out the half crown that lies upon his little brown
shapely palm.

"That's a sum," says Mr. Dysart. "Tommy, you're a cruel boy;" and having
struggled with it for a moment, he says "one hundred and twenty."

"No!" says Tommy in a voice faint with hopeful unbelief. "Joyce, 'tisn't
true, is it?"

"Quite true," says Joyce. "Just fancy, Tommy, one hundred and twenty
bull's-eyes, all in one day!"

There is such a genuine support of his desire to get rid of Tommy in her
tone that Dysart's heart rises within him.

"Tie it into my hankercher," says Tommy,