e
back part of the stove.

"Go teh hell," he murmured, tranquilly.

The woman screamed and shook her fists before her husband's eyes. The
rough yellow of her face and neck flared suddenly crimson. She began
to howl.

He puffed imperturbably at his pipe for a time, but finally arose and
began to look out at the window into the darkening chaos of back yards.

"You've been drinkin', Mary," he said. "You'd better let up on the
bot', ol' woman, or you'll git done."

"You're a liar. I ain't had a drop," she roared in reply.

They had a lurid altercation, in which they damned each other's souls
with frequence.

The babe was staring out from under the table, his small face working
in his excitement.

The ragged girl went stealthily over to the corner where the urchin lay.

"Are yehs hurted much, Jimmie?" she whispered timidly.

"Not a damn bit! See?" growled the little boy.

"Will I wash deh blood?"

"Naw!"

"Will I--"

"When I catch dat Riley kid I'll break 'is face! Dat's right! See?"

He turned his face to the wall as if resolved to grimly bide his time.

In the quarrel between husband and wife, the woman was victor. The man
grabbed his hat and rushed from the room, apparently determined upon a
vengeful drunk. She followed to the door and thundered at him as he
made his way down stairs.

She returned and stirred up the room until her children were bobbing
about like bubbles.

"Git outa deh way," she persistently bawled, waving feet with their
dishevelled shoes near the heads of her children. She shrouded
herself, puffing and snorting, in a cloud of steam at the stove, and
eventually extracted a frying-pan full of potatoes that hissed.

She flourished it. "Come teh yer suppers, now," she cried with sudden
exasperation. "Hurry up, now, er I'll help yeh!"

The children scrambled hastily. With prodigious clatter they arranged
themselves at table. The babe sat with his feet dangling high from a
precarious infant chair and gorged his small stomach. Jimmie forced,
with feverish rapidity, the grease-enveloped pieces between his wounded
lips. Maggie, with side glances of fear of interruption, ate like a
small pursued tigress.

The mother sat blinking at them. She delivered reproaches, swallowed
potatoes and drank from a yellow-brown bottle. After a time her mood
changed and she wept as she carried little Tommie into another room and
laid him to sleep with his fists doubled in an old quilt