At the next corner the lassie's childlike tones were suddenly drowned by a lustier voice which cried, "Mack'rel! Macker--el! Fine, ladies--fresh, ladies--and bellies as big as bishops'--Mack--er--el!" It was Danny Fayle with a board on his head containing his last instalment of the season's mackerel. When the two street-venders came together they stopped. "Aw now, the fresh you're looking this morning, Ruby veg--as fresh as a dewdrop, my chree!" The little one lifted her eyes and laughed. Then she plunged her hand into her basket and brought out a bunch of wild roses. "That's for you, Danny," she said. "Och, for me is it now? Aw, and is it for me it is?" said Danny, with wondering eyes. "The clean ruined it would be in half a minute, though, at the likes of me, Ruby veg. Keep it for yourself, woman." _Louder_: "Mack'rel--fine, ladies--fresh, ladies--Macker-el!" _Then lower_: "Aw now, the sweet and tidy they'd be lookin' in your own breast, my chree--the sweet extraordinary!" The child looked up and smiled, looked down and pondered: then half reluctantly, half coquettishly, fixed the flowers in her bosom. "Danny, I love you," she said, simply. The object of Ruby's affection blushed violently and was silent. "And so does Sissy," added the little one. "Mona?" asked Danny, and his tongue seemed to cleave to his mouth. "Yes, and mama too." Danny's face, which had begun to brighten, suddenly lost its sunshine. His lower lip was lagging wofully. "Yes, Mona and mama, and--and everybody," said the child, with ungrudging spontaneity. "No, Ruby ven." Danny's voice was breaking. He tried to conquer this weakness by shouting aloud, "Mack-er--Mack--" Then, in a softer tone, "Not everybody, my chree." "Well," said the child in earnest defense, "everybody except your uncle Kisseck." "Bill? Bill? What about Bill?" said Danny, hoarsely. "Why don't you fight into him, Danny? You're a big boy now, Danny. Why don't you fight into him?" Danny's simple face grew very grave. The soft blue eyes had an uncertain look. "Did Sissy say that, Ruby veg?" "No, but she said Bill Kisseck was a--was a--" "A what, Rue?" "A brute--to _you_, Danny." The lad's face trembled. The hanging lower lip quivered, and the whole countenance became charged with sudden energy. Lifting his board from his head, and taking up the finest of the fish, he said: "Ruby, take this home to Mona. Here now; it's at the bottom of your basket I'm putting it." "My flowers, Danny!" cried Ruby, anxiously. "Aw, what's the harm they'll take at all. There--there" (fixing some seaweed over the mackerel)--"nice, extraordinary--nice, nice!" "But what will your uncle Bill say, Danny?" asked the little one with the shadow of fear in her eyes. "Bill? Bill? Oh, Bill," said Danny, turning away his eyes for a moment. Then, with an access of strength as he lifted his board onto his head and turned to go, "if Bill says anything, I'll--I'll--"