"I don't want them all, Tommy; only give me two or three. I never
shall forget you, Tommy," said Katy, her eyes suffused with tears
of gratitude.

"I'm sorry things go so bad with you, Katy, and I wish I could do
something more for you."

"I don't want anything more. Don't put any more on the string.
There's six. We can't eat any more."

"Well, then, I'll bring you some more to-morrow," replied Tommy,
as he handed her the string of fish. "Stop a minute; here's a
first-rate tom-cod; let me put him on;" and he took the string
and added the fish to his gift.

"I never shall forget you, Tommy; I shall only borrow the two
cents; I will pay you again some time," said she, in a low tone,
so that Johnny could not hear her.

"Never mind 'em, Katy. Don't go hungry again for a minute. Come
to me, and I'll help you to something or other."

"Thank you, Tommy;" and with a lighter heart than she had brought
with her, she hastened up the pier, no doubt anticipating a rich
feast from the string of fish.

The pier of the new South Boston bridge was then, as now, a
favorite resort for juvenile fishermen. Flounders, tom-cod, and
eels, to say nothing of an occasional sculpin, which boys still
persist in calling "crahpies," or "crahooners," used to furnish