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sure? Why, they seem to have hardly any clothes."

"Sure the little coat of one of them's there in the water too," said Matty. "It's about drowndin' himself dead he was raichin' after the hat, so I got him out of it, and we loaned him th' ould sack while it would be dryin'; but it's fell in again." Matty had no wish to deceive; but her language was ambiguous, and it conveyed to her hearer the impression that she had rescued the child from a watery grave. She was astonished when this beautiful young lady," And herself a Saint," said, "Then you are a very good little girl, and I am very much obliged to you indeed." It seemed to her that since she was in such favor she might perhaps venture to put in a word about the potatoes so often bespoken in vain. But just as she was beginning, "If you please, Miss Saint Brigid, ma'am," Saint Brigid ran on to speak to the little boys.

Mac, when he saw her approaching, kicked Aylmer and said: "It's just a girl all dressed up; we needn't mind about being savages to her." But Aylmer had But Aylmer had too many chocolate-drops in his mouth to have room for any words.

"So you found the hamper, I see," the girl said, which seemed to Mac such an obvious remark that he ignored it, and replied: "You're quite welcome to some of these biscuits. I think the white ones are the best."

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"If she didn't, I don't see how you could be thinking anything about it," said Mac. "I ordered our dinners up there at her well, because we hadn't caught anything yet except bites, and we can't go back to the house until it's ever so late in the evening. And I ordered chicken and mashed potatoes, but I s'pose she forgot it, and I wish she hadn't, for I'm pretty hungry, and we have to be staying here." "Why?" said the girl, looking much surprised.

"Because of a nasty aunt that's coming this afternoon," said Mac. "So we went away to live wild like savages till she's gone.

But I dare say the old pest will

stay bovvering there till it's quite dark. People you don't want are always everywhere."

"And taking one to school, and asking one the dates of the kings and queens and things," came in a grumbling mumble, for Aylmer's mouth was still full. “I wish they'd all died the same time, and I wish plaguy old aunts would go and see somebody else."

"Well, I'm sorry you both think so badly of aunts," said the girl. "For I believe I am your Aunt Amy-but I don't know any dates myself."

"Nor seven times twice times ?" said Aylmer.

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Not without adding up,” she said. "She's nobody's aunt," Aylmer said to Mac, in a very loud whisper, "you needn't believe it. She might be Saint Brigid, for they said she had white clothes; but she's no more like an aunt than I am."

"Well, you needn't bellow at the top of your voice-she'll hear you," Mac said, giving him an indignant shove, which Aylmer returned. Their aunt did hear and see, and, to change the subject, said: "I hope you offered those little girls something."

"They're wanting potatoes," said Mac. "Because they and their mother haven't had anything this long while except potscrapings of yella male-that's what she called it—and it can't be very nice. But they wouldn't take our things-only a few biscuits."

"And they do look half starved, poor children!" said she. "But, by the way, which of you was it who got so nearly drowned? That was dreadful, and you ought really to come home and change your things."

"We wasn't either of ourselves nearly drowned, only our hats," said Mac. "People shouldn't exaggelate about nothing at all."

"Oh, they've been telling tales, have they?" Aylmer said, frowning in puckers all over his dirty round face. "Then they may do without any of my joggolates that I ordered myself. Now I won't keep a single one for them."

"Pig!" said Mac.

The girl in white gathered up some slices of plum-cake, and ran off with them after Matty and Rosy, who had gone to untether the goat. She had scarcely

reached them when she heard shrill voices arising behind her, and she looked round thinking that the menaced hostilities had broken out. But she saw that two tall, black-looking policemen had arrived, and that one of them was talking to the little ragged boys. Mac seemed to be answering him with fluent defiance; but Aylmer suddenly jumped up, and, fleeing towards her, still clutching his box of chocolate, grasped her skirts with a hand which left its mark, and began to roar. The policeman, following him, said: "Beg pardon, Miss, but did you know them children was making free with your hamper of sweets?"

"They're my nephews," she said, and Aylmer made no attempt to repudiate the connection. So the policeman withdrew, apologetic and rather scandalized. "That was a quare start," he said to his comrade as they walked away. "A one of them was eatin' that rapacious I thought he was starvin', and I come as near as anythin' takin' him in charge. They hadn't the look of belongin' to anybody respectable."

The constables were hardly out of sight when there appeared on the scene Lambert May, bringing with him the Doctor, and several men with ropes and poles, and Father Daly, and quite a crowd of children and women, some of whom had already begun to say that the poor little crathurs' mother was to be pitied that night, when she heard what had happened them. But their Aunt Amy really was to be pitied, in a less tragical degree, when she had to explain that nothing had happened to them at all. For she felt ashamed of the commotion roused by her false alarm, and did not like to think how foolish she must appear to Lambert May. Altogether it did seem hard that she should have given up a garden party, and spoiled her new gown, only to frighten and make herself ridiculous, and to be disowned with contempt by her relations. Moreover, her very disreputable-looking nephews proceeded to behave so badly

that she felt quite abashed, and they talked so strangely about savages and Saint Brigid that she almost thought they must be demented. Mac especially, being hungry and fractious, stamped furiously in a puddle when requested to put on his boots and stockings, and declared that he wasn't going to be ordered about by people who came bothering and pretending they were everybody's aunts. His good humor was not restored until he had been invited thoroughly to inspect Lambert May's highly polished roadster, and even to sit on the saddle and see how entirely out of reach the pedals were. By the time that she had helped him to lace his boots, it is true, he had begun to take a more tolerant view of his aunt's character. Yet when he said good-by to her at the gate, he gave her a bit of presumably mortifying intelligence.

"The man with the bicycle thinks you are very horrid," he said.

"How do you know?” she asked.

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Because," said Mac, "when he was showing it to me, I asked him if he thought you were his aunt, and he said: 'Oh, no, indeed, she's not my aunt, thank goodness !' But next time I see him I'll tell him you aren't as nasty as most aunts, unless," Mac continued, interrogatively, "you maybe aren't one at all, and only letting on, the same way that we were about the savages?"

There was one person, however, to whom the afternoon seemed ending in a sudden blaze of joy. Matty Shanahan just about that time was rushing homewards through shade and shine at the top of her speed. Such a pace did she attain that Rosy McClonissy, following with the little goat in tow, and daring not be left behind, tugged and panted, and called injunctions to stop, and to come on. Matty never heeded. For she was on her way to give her mother the wonderful golden sixpenny bit that the lovely young lady— some sort of Quality or Saint-had run after her to put into her hand.

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Before Titian's Portrait of Himself

at Ninety

( In the Gallery of the Prado at Madrid)

By Minna Caroline Smith

O gentle fiery soul, what can thy fame
Receive of homage that has not been brought?
Master of masters! may the secret caught
By thee from whispering Death forever shame
The faltering toiler, may its power be flame
To wither doubt and fear that set at naught
Divinest summons! May thy portrait wrought
By thee in age inspire renewed high aim!
Lo! by thine art triumphant martyrs kneel,
Or saints and kings the Holy Child adore;
On yonder wall the Emperor Carlos rides,
Yet here thy soul more dauntlessly abides.
Thy powers in waning mightily reveal
Beauty and nobleness unguessed before!

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