ld of him, he had ducked
his small black head and escaped. Buttoned tightly in his narrow
jacket, which he had not taken off, his straight thin figure offered
nothing for the hand to grasp, so that it was like trying to lay hold of
a wriggling, slippery eel. It was certainly a much better fight than
could have been expected from the unequal size of the rivals, and Bill's
face grew a deep red, as much with rage as with his vain efforts to
close with Dan, who skipped round him breathless but full of spirit.
Suddenly, however, while the excitement was at its height, there came a
cry of alarm from the onlookers, "The bobby! the bobby!"

A blue uniform turned the corner. The crowd split up, and vanished like
magic as the policeman came towards them. Bill turned away sulkily, and
Dan seizing the kitten, which had been dropped on the ground, ran off at
the top of his speed.

Without turning his head, to see if his enemy was in pursuit, he sped
down the street past the school-house, clasping the kitten to his
breast. Soon he had left the shops and busy part of the town behind
him, and reached the outskirts, where the houses were poor and mean, and
there were ragged people standing about on the door-steps. He gave a
quick glance over his shoulder now, and seeing no sign of Bill or the
policeman, slackened his pace, loosened the tight pressure of his hand
on the kitten, and stroked it gently.

"Poor little kit," he said, "nice little kit. How pleased Becky'll be
with it."

It was hard to say whether Dan or the kitten was most exhausted by all
they had been through. His fight, his rapid run, and the excitement of
the whole affair had made him so breathless, that he was glad to lean
against a lamp-post and pant. As for the grey kitten, it lay almost
lifeless on his breast, its eyes closed, its little body quite limp, and
its heart beating so faintly that it could hardly be felt. The boy
looked down at it with pity.

"Looks pretty bad," he murmured; "they've mauled it about so. P'r'aps a
drop of milk would set it up."

Urged by this thought, he made an effort to go on again at a slower
pace, still panting a good deal, and presently reached a row of small
cottages, one of which he entered. A child's voice from a dark corner
of the poorly-furnished kitchen cried, as he opened the door, "Mother,
it ain't father; it's Dan;" and a woman, who was bending over a pot on
the fire, turned towards him.

"Well," she said fr