Morris rose stealthily, crept forward, and placed a bright blue
bromo-seltzer bottle in the fat hand which hung over the back of the
chair of state. The hand closed instinctively as, with dawning
curiosity, the Honorable Timothy studied the small figure at his side.
It began in a wealth of loosely curling hair which shaded a delicate
face, very pointed as to chin and monopolized by a pair of dark eyes,
sad and deep and beautiful. A faded blue "jumper" was buttoned tightly
across the narrow chest; frayed trousers were precariously attached to
the "jumper," and impossible shoes and stockings supplemented the
trousers. Glancing from boy to bottle, the "comp'ny mit whiskers" asked:

"What's this for?"

"For you."

"What's in it?"

"A present."

Mr. O'Shea removed the cork and proceeded to draw out incredible
quantities of absorbent cotton. When there was no more to come, a faint
tinkle sounded within the blue depths, and Mr. O'Shea, reversing the
bottle, found himself possessed of a trampled and disfigured sleeve link
of most palpable brass.

"It's from gold," Morris assured him. "You puts it in your--'scuse
me--shirt. Wish you health to wear it."

"Thank you," said the Honorable Tim, and there was a tiny break in the