door with a piece of broken
brick, at once converted his pencil into a missile, and let fly at the
head of the tinker, who seemed quite prepared for such a result, for,
raising the kettle he was mending, he caught the shot adroitly, and the
brick rattled harmlessly on the tin.

"Ha!" said the tinker, mockingly, "you missed me, like your mammy's
blessin';" and he pursued his work.

"What a very odd name he calls you," said Furlong, addressing young
O'Grady.

"Ratty," said the boy. "Oh, yes, they call me Ratty, short for Horatio.
I was called Horatio after Lord Nelson, because Lord Nelson's father
was a clergyman, and papa intends me for the Church."

"And a nate clargy you'll make," said the tinker.

"And why do they call you milline'?" inquired Furlong. The old man
looked up and grinned, but said nothing.

"You'll know before long, I'll engage," said Ratty; "won't he, Fogy?
You were with old Gran' to-day, weren't you?"

"Yes."

"Did she sing to you 'The lass with the delicate air'?" said the boy,
putting himself in the attitude of a person playing the guitar,
throwing up his eyes, and mimicking the voice of an old woman--

"So they call'd her, they call'd her,
The lass--the lass
With a delicate air,
De--lick-it--lick-it--lick-it
The lass with a de--lick-it air."

The young rascal made frightful mouths, and put out his tongue every
time he said "lick-it," and when he had finished, asked Furlong, "Wasn't
that the thing?" Furlong told him his grandmamma had been going to sing
it, but this pleasure had been deferred till to-morrow.

"Then you did not hear it?" said Ratty.

Furlong answered in the negative.

"Och! murder! murder! I'm sorry I told you."

"Is it so _vewy_ pa'ticula', then?" inquired Furlong.

"Oh, you'll find out that, and more too, if you live long enough," was
the answer. Then turning to the tinker, he said, "Have you any milliner
work in hand, Fogy?"

"To be sure I have," answered the tinker; "who has so good a right to
know that as yourself? Throth, you've little to do, I'm thinkin', when
you ax that idle question. Oh, you're nate lads! And would nothin' sarve
you but brakin' the weathercock?"

"Oh, 't was such a nice cock-shot; 't was impossible not to have a shy
at it," said Ratty, chuckling.

"Oh, you're nice lads!" still chimed in the tinker.

"Besides," said Ratty, "Gusty bet me a bull-dog pup against a rabbit, I
could not smash it in three g