ho, though sorry
to see the rain on account of her washing, exulted in the fact that
Pietro was caught out in it.

She went to the front door and looked out. Looking up the street, she
just caught a glimpse of the organ in rapid retreat. She now unbolted
the door, the danger being at an end, and went up to acquaint Phil with
the good news.

"You may come down now," she said.

"Is he gone?" inquired Phil.

"Shure he's runnin' up the street as fast as his legs can carry him."

"Thank you for saving me from him," said, Phil, with a great sense of
relief at the flight of his enemy.

"Whisht now; I don't nade any thanks. Come down by the fire now."

So Phil went down, and Bridget, on hospitable thoughts intent, drew her
only rocking-chair near the stove, and forced Phil to sit down in it.
Then she told him, with evident enjoyment, of the trick which Pietro had
tried to play on her, and how he had failed.

"He couldn't chate me, the haythen!" she concluded. "I was too smart for
the likes of him, anyhow. Where do you live when you are at home?"

"I have no home now," said Phil, with tears in his eyes.

"And have you no father and mother?"

"Yes," said Phil. "They live in Italy."

"And why did they let you go so far away?"

"They were poor, and the padrone offered them money," answered Phil,
forced to answer, though the subject was an unpleasant one.

"And did they know he was a bad man and would bate you?"

"I don't think they knew," said Phil, with hesitation. "My mother did
not know."

"I've got three childer myself," said Bridget; "they'll get wet comin'
home from school, the darlints--but I wouldn't let them go with any man
to a far country, if he'd give me all the gowld in the world. And where
does that man live that trates you so bad?"

"In New York."

"And does Peter--or whatever the haythen's name is--live there too?"

"Yes, Pietro lives there. The padrone is his uncle, and treats him
better than the rest of us. He sent him after me to bring me back."

"And what is your name? Is it Peter, like his?"

"No; my name is Filippo."

"It's a quare name."

"American boys call me Phil."

"That's better. It's a Christian name, and the other isn't. Before I
married my man I lived five years at Mrs. Robertson's, and she had a boy
they called Phil. His whole name was Philip."

"That's my name in English."

"Then why don't you call it so, instead of Philip-O? What good is the O,
anyhow? In my countr