The rest of her sentence was lost in indignant astonishment; someone had flicked one of the little feather brooms known as ‘fair-ticklers’ full

in her face !

‘Come along, Micky,’ she exclaimed, with angry impatience ; ‘I'm sick of this horrid place. Why, what are you doing P’

For Micky had suddenly flung down the ball which he was about to shy at the cocoanuts, and was rushing after a wretched little street arab

of about his own size. Give it up l You little cad !' he shouted, as he

caught hold of the boy's ragged jacket. ‘Give it up this minute!’

‘I ain't got nothing,’ whined the boy, trying vainly to wriggle out of Micky’s grasp.

‘Yes, you have. I saw you take it,’ and to Emmeline’s intense surprise, Micky suddenly wrenched her own purse out of the street arab’s dirty hand. Her thoughts had been so much taken up by the fair-tickler that she had not even felt it go.

‘I'd give you a jolly good thrashing if you weren't such a muff!’ exclaimed Micky.

Emmeline collected her astonished wits with

an effort. .

‘Well, you are a naughty little boy,' she re- marked severely ; it would just serve you right if we gave you up to the police.’