aherty, who was livin' next door.

"'Mickey?' says she. 'Why, didn't I see Mickey start off with the b'ys?
They be gone swimmin',' says she.

"'Swimmin'!' says I, and with that I lets out a yell. 'He'll be
drownd-ed!' says I. 'Me poor Mickey'll be drownd-ed!'

"'Be aisy, Mrs. O'Brien,' says she; 'or ye'll be spoilin' yir milk and
then what'll ye do?' And she was right, Rosie, was Mrs. Flaherty, for
Mickey got back safe and sound, to be carried off two years later with
scarlet fever!"

Mrs. O'Brien nodded her head complacently and poured herself another cup
of tea.

Rosie, her face still tragic and woebegone, turned to her brother. "Will
you do something for me, Terry?"

"What?"

"Follow Jackie out and see that he don't get into deep water."

Terry looked at her as if she were crazy. "Sorry, Rosie, but I got
something more to do than trail Jack around. Besides, he's not going to
get hurt. It'll be good for him."

Rosie washed the dinner dishes in silence, thinking to herself what a
cold-blooded family she had. There was poor wee Jackie out there
drowning, for all they knew, and not one of them willing to stretch
forth a helping hand. She escaped as soon as she could to seek the
sympathy of her friend, Janet McFadden.

Another blow was in store for her. Janet heard her out and then said:
"But, Rosie, don't all boys go swimming?"

Rosie was ready to weep with vexation. "What do I care what all boys do?
This is Jack!"

"Well," said Janet, with maddening logic, "even if it is Jack, I guess
Jack's a boy."

Drawing herself up to her greatest height, Rosie looked her friend full
in the face. "If that's all you got to say, Janet McFadden, I guess I
had better be going. Good-bye."

"Don't you want me to help with your papers this afternoon?" Janet
called after her.

"No!" Rosie spoke brusquely, then added lamely: "I'm in a hurry today."

"Oh, very well!" Janet lifted her head and tightened her lips. "I'm sure
I don't want to go where I'm not wanted."

"So she's mad at me, too!" Rosie told herself as she hurried off,
feeling more miserable than before.

She got her papers and went about delivering them, nursing her grief in
her heart, till she came to old Danny Agin's cottage. Then she talked
and Danny, as usual, listened quietly and sympathetically.

At first he had nothing to say. He screwed his head about thoughtfully,
squinted at his pipe, tapped it several times on the porch rail, blew
through the st