“Row,” repeated the woman, “I guess it is a row. What do you think, Jim? Them young ones come in here as bold as brass, tellin’ me to me face our Rosy was shtole when she was a baby. Did ye ever hear the like of that?” “We didn’t say she stole her,” put in Paul. “We only said we thought she might have been stolen. She said herself perhaps she was.” “I did not!” shrieked Rosy, in sudden terror, as her mother made a step in her direction. “It’s lies he’s tellin’, Ma.” “Of course it’s lies. Now get along wid yous, and if I ever see one of yous hangin’ round here, you’ll get somethin’ you won’t like. Put ’em out, Jim.” Jim advanced threateningly. “Come on,” he ordered. “Out you goes.” The two little girls, now thoroughly frightened, made a hasty retreat towards the door, but Paul did not move. “Come, Paul,” implored Dulcie, her teeth chattering with fright. “We don’t want to stay here any longer. She isn’t a stolen child, after all. Oh, please do come.” “I won’t come till she apologizes for being so rude,” returned Paul, obstinately. At that moment the man on the bed moved and raised his head. “Chase ’em, Jim,” he commanded in his deep, hoarse voice; “I can’t stand no more talk. The wind from that door’s enough to give abody a chill. Chase ’em out, I say, and shut the door.” “Come along, young one,” said Jim, and seizing Paul by the shoulders, he gave him a push, which sent that indignant small boy flying out into the street. As for Dulcie and Molly, they were already flying up the steps. “Let’s run, oh, let’s run,” gasped Molly. “Come, Dulcie, come, Paul. Oh, do be quick.” And away flew the terrified child, closely followed by her sister. But at the next corner Dulcie’s sense of duty suddenly asserted itself. “We’ve got to stop and wait for Paul,” she panted. “Aunt Julia would be so angry if we left him behind.” Molly paused reluctantly, and they both looked around. The next instant they had each uttered a shriek of horror, and were running back in the direction from whence they had come. It was a truly awful sight which met their gaze, for, rolling on a pile of snow, were two small figures, kicking and pummelling each other in a manner which filled Dulcie and Molly with unspeakable terror, for one of the figures was Jim Finnegan, and the other was Paul. “He’s killing Paul, oh, he’s killing him!” wailed Molly, wringing her hands. “Somebody stop him; oh, please do stop him!”