MARTIN RATTLER. 35

dropped his spectacles and sat down on his hat, and
Martin Rattler stood before them with the white
kitten in his arms.

For a few seconds there was a dead silence, while
an expression of puzzled disappointment passed over
Mr. Jollyboy’s ruddy countenance. At last he said,—

“Is this, madam, the nephew who, you told me a
little ago, is not addicted to fighting ?”

“Yes,” answered the old lady faintly, and cover-
ing her eyes with her hands, “ that is Martin.”

“Tf my aunt told you that, sir, she told you the
truth,” said Martin, setting down the blood-stained
white kitten, which forthwith began to stretch its
limbs and lick itself dry. “I don’t ever fight if I
can help it, but I couldn’t help it to-day.”

With a great deal of energy, and a revival of
much of his former indignation when he spoke of
the kitten’s sufferings, Martin recounted all the cir-
cumstances of the fight; during the recital of which
Mrs. Dorothy Grumbit took his hand in hers and
patted it, gazing the while into his swelled visage,
and weeping plentifully, but very silently. When
he had finished, Mr. Jollyboy shook hands with him,
and said he was a trump, at the same time recom-
mending him to go and wash his face. Then he

whispered a few words in Mrs. Grumbit’s ear, which