stn't, Jackie, you mustn't! You'll get drownd-ed! Sure
he will, Joe! He don't know how to swim one bit!"

Joe grinned mockingly. "Guess he can learn, can't he?"

Rosie paused distractedly, then clutched at the only straw that floated
by. "See here, Jackie, you can go with Joe and you can look on, but
listen: if you promise me you won't go in, I'll give you a whole
nickel!"

Jack looked at Joe and Joe looked at Jack. Then with the eye farthest
away from Rosie, Rosie thought she saw Joe screw out a small wink.
Thereupon Jack turned to Rosie with a frank, guileless smile.

"All right, Rosie. You give me a nickel and I won't--honest I won't."

"You promise me faithfully you won't go in?"

"Sure I won't, Rosie! Cross my heart!"

Rosie drew out one of her hard-earned nickels and gave it to him. He
and Joe promptly hurried off.

"Now, remember!" Rosie called after them, beseechingly; but they seemed
not to hear, for they made her no answer.

Rosie went back to the table almost in tears. "Jackie's gone off with
that Joe Slattery and they're goin' in swimmin' and I just know he'll
get drownd-ed!"

"You don't say so!" ejaculated Mrs. O'Brien. "Why didn't you tell me,
Rosie dear, before they got started?"

"Tell you!" Rosie's tears changed to scorn. "Why'd I tell you? You know
very well how much you'd do! You always let every one do just what they
want!"

Mrs. O'Brien blinked reproachful eyes. "Why, Rosie, how you talk! If
you'd ha' told me that Jackie was goin' in swimmin' I'd ha' gone out to
him and said: 'Now, Jackie dear, mind the water! Don't go in the deep
places first!' I give you me word, Rosie, I'd ha' said it if it were me
last breath!"

Rosie lost all patience. "I know very well that's exactly what you'd
say! That's all the sense you got! That's all the sense that anybody in
this house has got! And I suppose by this time Jackie's drownd-ed, and
if he is I want to die, too!"

Mrs. O'Brien looked at her in amazement. "Why, Rosie dear, what a
flutter ye do be puttin' yourself into! Ah, now I see. It's because
Jackie's your first chick! Take me word for it, darlint, when ye're the
mother of eight ye won't be carryin' on so. Come to think about it, I
remember meself over Mickey--God rest his soul!--the first day he went
swimmin'. Mickey was just turned seven, and Terry here was toddlin'
about on the floor, and yourself was in me arms no bigger than poor wee
Geraldine.

"'Where's Mickey?' says I to Mrs. Fl