"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 defence, "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
