"'I defy you to do it, you murdering robber.'

"'Do you! by dad; once more, give me four.'

"'To blazes wid you; three or none.'

"'Then there you go!'

"And, worse luck, sure enough he did, and that at the devil's own pace.

"At this moment I turned my eyes in horror to the Tower, and the height
was awful."

"Poor child,--of course he was killed upon the spot?"

"There's the wonder; not a ha'porth o' harm did the vagabone take at all
at all. He held on by the birds' legs like a little nagur; he was but a
shimpeen of a chap, and what with the flapping of their wings and the soft
place he fell upon, barring a little thrifle of stunning, and it may be a
small matter of fright, he was as comfortable as any one could expect
under the circumstances; but it would have done your heart good to see the
little gossoon jump up, shake his feathers, and shout out at the top of
his small voice, 'Tim Sheeney, you thief, you'd better have taken the
three,--for d--n the daw do you get now!'" And so ends the Legend of the
Round Tower.

* * * * *