MARTIN RATTLER. 27

“I’m sure,” continued Martin, “there’s no reason
in bearing me ill-will. I’ve done nothing unfair, and
I'm very sorry we've had to fight. Won’t you shake
hands ?”

Bob was silent.

“Come, come, Bob!” eried several of the bigger
boys, “don’t be sulky, man; shake hands and be
friends. Martin has licked you this time, and
youll lick him next time, no doubt, and that’s all
about it.”

“Arrah, then, ye’re out there intirely. Bob
Croaker’ll niver lick Martin Rattler, though he wos
to live to the age of the great M‘Thuselah,” said a
deep-toned voice close to the spot where the fight had
taken place.

All eyes were instantly turned in the direction
whence it proceeded, and the boys now became aware,
for the first time, that the combat had been witnessed
by a sailor, who, with a smile of approval beaming on
his good-humoured countenance, sat under the shade of
a neighbouring tree smoking a pipe of that excessive
shortness and blackness that seems to be peculiarly
beloved by Ivishmen in the humbler ranks of life,
The man was very tall and broad-shouldered, and
carried himself with a free-and-casy swagger, as he

rose and approached the group of boys.