leaving an opening which even the well-winded Piggie could not resist. The next moment, consumed by a sudden passion to escape, to collect his wits and gather his wind once more. Lonely turned and fled,—fled incontinently to the bake-shop door, beaten, bleeding, humiliated, chased in over his own threshold by the surprised and exultant Piggie Brennan.
Lonely's flour-covered father, with a great pan of loaves on his shoulder, came in from the bake-oven just as his offspring came in from the street.
Blood streamed from the boy's discolored and swollen nose; his body was convulsed with fierce and passionate little sobs.
"And what 's the meanin' o' this?" cried Lonely's father, as he eyed his offspring, coldly, up and down.
"That b—big b—b—bully out there licked me!" wailed Lonely, trying in vain to stanch the ruddy flow which was making sad havoc of his blue checked shirt.
"Who—what bully?" cried Timothy O'Malley, dangerously, coming out of the gloom toward the front of the shop.
"Piggie Brennan—that—that great big
