Eddie hid his little clenched fist in the folds of his dress, and received these advances with a defiant pout. “Mammy wants me to go home, and I _will_ go home!” he said, while his little form swelled and struggled with a rising sob. “And so you shall, to a nice, big home, where you will have lots of little boys to play with.” “I don’t want no boys to play with, but Pat and mammy,” answered the little fellow, walking backward toward his nurse. “But you shall live in a grand, big house.” “Mammy lives in a grand, big house,” answered the child, quite convinced that his shanty-home was equal to any palace. “I like her grand home!” “But mammy hasn’t got cherry-trees, and apple-orchards, and meadows full of clover,” said the officer, amused, and yet touched by the child’s resolute air. “But she’s got morning-glories, and—and red beans, and oh, dear! she’s got everything—she has,” cried the child, with a burst of tearful eloquence. “Mister,” said Mary Margaret, approaching the officer in her motherly sorrow, “if ye’d only let the little felly stay a bit longer, till he’s big enough to wear jacket and trousers, ye know; he’s backard-like, ye see, and wants good motherly nursin’ more ’n a three months child.” The officer shook his head, and Mary Margaret looked wofully down upon the little fellow, who was striving to envelop himself in the folds of her calico dress. “He’s no mother but me, yer honor. It’d kill him intirely to go up yonder with the rest, and have all his beautiful curls cut short, and—and, oh! yer honor, it’ll be the death of us both—it will. Couldn’t ye be merciful this onest? Consither he’s a poor, motherless crathur, and only me to look up to in the wide worlt!” Again the officer shook his head, but there was relenting and sympathy in his eyes. How could he help it, with that frank, pleading look fixed upon him, and the pretty child peeping out wistfully from the shelter of her garments. “Indeed, Mrs. Dillon, I am sorry, but we have stretched a point in this case already, in consideration of your affection for the boy. The law is that all children, dependent on the city, must be removed to the institution when they are two years old. Now we know that little Eddie there is almost three, and he must take his chance with the rest.” Poor Mary Margaret’s countenance fell, and Eddie made a grand effort to draw her away by force. “Home!” he pleaded, “home, mammy; I will go home!”