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drownd-ed, and if he is I want to die, too!"

      Mrs. O'Brien looked at her in amazement. "Why, Rosie dear, what a flutter ye do be puttin' yourself into! Ah, now I see. It's because Jackie's your first chick! Take me word for it, darlint, when ye're the mother of eight ye won't be carryin' on so. Come to think about it, I remember meself over Mickey – God rest his soul! – the first day he went swimmin'. Mickey was just turned seven, and Terry here was toddlin' about on the floor, and yourself was in me arms no bigger than poor wee Geraldine.

      "'Where's Mickey?' says I to Mrs. Flaherty, who was livin' next door.

      "'Mickey?' says she. 'Why, didn't I see Mickey start off with the b'ys? They be gone swimmin',' says she.

      "'Swimmin'!' says I, and with that I lets out a yell. 'He'll be drownd-ed!' says I. 'Me poor Mickey'll be drownd-ed!'

      "'Be aisy, Mrs. O'Brien,' says she; 'or ye'll be spoilin' yir milk and then what'll ye do?' And she was right, Rosie, was Mrs. Flaherty, for Mickey got back safe and sound, to be carried off two years later with scarlet fever!"

      Mrs. O'Brien nodded her head complacently and poured herself another cup of tea.

      Rosie, her face still tragic and woebegone, turned to her brother. "Will you do something for me, Terry?"

      "What?"

      "Follow Jackie out and see that he don't get into deep water."

      Terry looked at her as if she were crazy. "Sorry, Rosie, but I got something more to do than trail Jack around. Besides, he's not going to get hurt. It'll be good for him."

      Rosie washed the dinner dishes in silence, thinking to herself what a cold-blooded family she had. There was poor wee Jackie out there drowning, for all they knew, and not one of them willing to stretch forth a helping hand. She escaped as soon as she could to seek the sympathy of her friend, Janet McFadden.

      Another blow was in store for her. Janet heard her out and then said: "But, Rosie, don't all boys go swimming?"

      Rosie was ready to weep with vexation. "What do I care what all boys do? This is Jack!"

      "Well," said Janet, with maddening logic, "even if it is Jack, I guess Jack's a boy."

      Drawing herself up to her greatest height, Rosie looked her friend full in the face. "If that's all you got to say, Janet McFadden, I guess I had better be going. Good-bye."

      "Don't you want me to help with your papers this afternoon?" Janet called after her.

      "No!" Rosie spoke brusquely, then added lamely: "I'm in a hurry today."

      "Oh, very well!" Janet lifted her head and tightened her lips. "I'm sure I don't want to go where I'm not wanted."

      "So she's mad at me, too!" Rosie told herself as she hurried off, feeling more miserable than before.

      She got her papers and went about delivering them, nursing her grief in her heart, till she came to old Danny Agin's cottage. Then she talked and Danny, as usual, listened quietly and sympathetically.

      At first he had nothing to say. He screwed his head about thoughtfully, squinted at his pipe, tapped it several times on the porch rail, blew through the stem, then finally cleared his throat.

      "It's just this way, Rosie: I know exactly how ye feel. Jack's yir own baby, as it were; but, whist, darlint, he can't be always taggin' after ye, don't ye see? He's a pretty big lump of a b'y now, and if I was you I'd just let him run and play by himself when the mood takes him. Then, when he comes back, just talk to him like nuthin' was the matther, and upon me word, Rosie, he'll love ye all the more for it."

      "But, Danny," Rosie wailed, "what if he was to get drownd-ed?"

      Danny reached over and patted her on the arm confidentially. "Ah, now, Rosie, what if we was all to get drownd-ed? You know it happened wance. Noah was the gintleman's name. From all accounts 'twas a fearful experience. But 'twas a long time ago, and since then any number of us have escaped. Why, Rosie dear, I've never yet been drownd-ed meself, and in me young days I was mighty fond of the wather. So cheer up, darlint, for the chances are that Jackie'll come out all right."

      Rosie dried her eyes listlessly. It seemed to her they were all in conspiracy against her. Yes, she was sure of it.

      CHAPTER VII

      HOW TO KEEP A DUCK OUT OF WATER

      Jack was home in good time for supper.

      "Ah, now, do you see, Rosie?" Her mother pointed to him in triumph. "It's just as I told you. Here he is safe and sound. But, Jackie dear, mind now: the next time don't ye go into the deep water until ye know how to swim."

      Ellen glanced at him amusedly. "Been in swimmin', kid?"

      To Rosie the question seemed both stupid and inane, for Jack's face had a clean, varnished look that was unmistakable, and his hair had dried in stiff, shiny streaks close to his head.

      He was hungry and ate with zest, but he said little and carefully avoided Rosie's eye. Very soon after supper he slipped off quietly to bed. Rosie did not pursue him. She was waiting for George Riley, upon whom she was pinning her last hope.

      Presently he came but, before she had time to get his advice, she was hurried upstairs by Jackie himself, who called down in urgent, tearful tones:

      "Rosie! Oh, Rosie! Come here! Please come! Come quick!"

      The little front bedroom with its sloping walls and one dormer window was Ellen's room, theoretically. Actually, Rosie shared Ellen's bed, and Jack's little cot stood at the bottom of the bed between the door and the bureau.

      Rosie felt hurriedly for matches and candle. "Now, Jackie dear, what's the matter? You're not sick, are you? Tell Rosie."

      "It hurts! It hurts!" Jack was sitting up, wailing dolefully. He reached toward Rosie in a helpless, appealing way that warmed her heart. Whatever was the matter, it was bringing him back to her.

      "What is it hurts, Jackie?"

      "My back! It burns! I tell you it's just burnin' up!"

      Rosie gently lifted off his nightshirt and held the candle close.

      "Jackie! What's happened to your back and shoulders? They're all red and swollen! What did those Slattery boys do to you?"

      "They didn't do nuthin', Rosie, honest they didn't. Ouch! Ouch! Can't you do something to make it stop hurting?"

      "Wait a minute, Jackie, and I'll call Jarge Riley. Jarge'll know what to do."

      George came at once and as quickly recognized Jack's ailment. "Ha, ha, Jack, old boy, how's your sunburn? Jiminy, you've got a good one this time!.. Say, how's the water?"

      "Ugh-h-h!" moaned Jack. "It hurts!" Then with a change of voice he answered George enthusiastically: "Dandy! Just as warm and nice as anything!"

      George sighed. "Golly! Wisht I was a kid again! There sure is no place like the old swimmin'-hole in the good old summer-time!"

      Rosie glared indignantly. "Jarge Riley, ain't you ashamed of yourself! It's dangerous to go in swimming and you know it is! Jackie's never going in again, are you, Jackie?"

      Jack snuffled tearfully: "My back hurts! Can't some o' you do something for it?"

      Rosie turned stiffly to George. "What I called you up here for was to ask you what's good for a sunburnt back."

      "Excuse me," murmured George meekly. "Let's see now: We ought to put on some oil or grease, then some powder or flour."

      "Will lard do?" Rosie still spoke coldly.

      "Yes, but vaseline would be better. There's a bottle of vaseline on my bureau. Do you want to get it, Rosie?"

      Rosie hurried off and returned just in time to hear George say: "Oh, you can go in again in two or three days."

      Rosie blazed on him furiously. "Jarge Riley, what are you telling Jackie?"

      "I?" He spoke with an assumption of innocence and that look of guilelessness which Rosie was fast learning to associate with male deceit. "I was just telling him it would take a couple o' days for his back to peel. Then

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