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both front and rear. Phil occasionally looked guardedly from the

window in the second story, and saw his enemy, but knew that as
long as he remained indoors he was safe. It was not very

agreeable remaining in the chamber alone, but it was a great deal
better than falling into the clutches of Pietro, and he felt

fortunate to have found so secure a place of refuge.
Pietro finally posted himself at the side of the house, where he

could command a view of both front and rear, and there maintained
his stand nearly underneath the window at which his intended

prisoner was standing.
As Phil was watching him, suddenly he heard steps, and Bridget

McGuire entered the chamber. She bore in her hand the same tin
dipper before noticed, filled with steaming hot water. Phil

regarded her with some surprise.
"Would you like to see some fun now?" she asked, her face

covered by a broad smile.
"Yes," said Phil.

"Open the windy, aisy, so he won't hear."
Phil obeyed directions, and managed not to attract the attention

of his besieger below, who chanced at the moment to be looking
toward the door in the rear.

"Now," said Bridget, "take this dipper and give him the binifit
of it."

"Don't let him see you do it," cautioned his protector.
Phil took the idea and the dipper at once.

Phil, holding the dipper carefully, discharged the contents with
such good aim that they drenched the watching Pietro. The water

being pretty hot, a howl of pain and rage rose from below, and
Pietro danced about frantically. Looking up, he saw no one, for

Phil had followed directions and drawn his head in immediately.
But Mrs. McGuire, less cautious, looked out directly afterward.

"Will ye go now, or will ye stand jist where I throw the hot
water?"

In reply, Pietro indulged in some rather emphatic language, but
being in the Italian language, in which he was more fluent, it

fell unregarded upon the ears of Mrs. McGuire.
"I told you to go," she said. "I've got some more wather

inside."
Pietro stepped back in alarm. He had no disposition to take

another warm shower bath, and he had found out to his cost that
Bridget McGuire was not a timid woman, or easily frightened.

But he had not yet abandoned the siege. He shifted his ground to
the front of the house, and took a position commanding a view of

the front door.
CHAPTER XXII

THE SIEGE IS RAISED
Though Phil was the besieged party, his position was decidedly

preferable to that of Pietro. The afternoon was passing, and he
was earning nothing. He finally uncovered his organ and began to

play. A few gathered around him, but they were of that class
with whom money is not plenty. So after a while, finding no

pennies forthcoming, he stopped suddenly, but did not move on, as
his auditors expected him to. He still kept his eyes fixed on

Mrs. McGuire's dwelling. He did this so long as to attract
observation.

"You'll know the house next time, mister," said a sharp boy.
Pietro was about to answer angrily, when a thought struck him.

"Will you do something for me?" he asked.
"How much?" inquired the boy, suggestively.

"Five cents," answered Pietro, understanding his meaning.
"It isn't much," said the boy, reflectively. "Tell me what you

want."
Though Pietro was not much of a master of English, he contrived

to make the boy understand that he was to go round to the back
door and tell Mrs. McGuire that he, Pietro, was gone. He

intended to hide close by, and when Phil came out, as he hoped,
on the strength of his disappearance, he would descend upon him

and bear him off triumphantly.
Armed with these instructions, the boy went round to the back

door and knocked.
Thinking it might be Phil's enemy, Mrs. McGuire went to the door,

holding in one hand a dipper of hot suds, ready to use in case of
emergency.

"Well, what do you want?" she asked, abruptly, seeing that it
was a boy.

"He's gone," said the boy.
"Who's gone?"

"The man with the hand-organ, ma'am."
"And what for do I care?" demanded Bridget, suspiciously.

This was a question the boy could not answer. In fact, he
wondered himself why such a message should have been sent. He

could only look at her in silence.
"Who told you to tell the man was gone?" asked Bridget, with a

shrewdness worthy of a practitioner at the bar.
"The Italian told me,"

"Did he?" repeated Bridget, who saw into the trick at once.
"He's very kind."

"He didn't want you to know he told me," said the boy,
remembering his instructions when it was too late.

Mrs. McGuire nodded her head intelligently.
"True for you," said she. "What did he pay you for tellin' me?"

"Five cents."
"Thin it's five cints lost. Do you want to earn another five

cints?"
"Yes," said the boy, promptly.

"Thin do what I tell you."
"What is it?"

"Come in and I'll tell you."
The boy having entered, Mrs. McGuire led him to the front door.

"Now," said she, "when I open the door, run as fast as you can.
The man that sint you will think it is another boy, and will run

after you. Do ye mind?"
The young messenger began to see the joke, and was quite willing

to help carry it out. But even the prospective fun did not make
him forgetful of his promised recompense.

"Where's the five cents?" he asked.
"Here," said Bridget, and diving into the depths of a capacious

pocket, she drew out five pennies.
"That's all right," said the boy. "Now, open the door."

Bridget took care to make a noise in opening the door, and, as it
opened, she said in a loud and exultant voice, "You're all safe

now; the man's gone."
"Now run," she said, in a lower voice.

The boy dashed out of the doorway, but Mrs. McGuire remained
standing there. She was not much surprised to see Pietro run out

from the other side of the house, and prepare to chase the
runaway. But quickly perceiving that he was mistaken, he checked

his steps, and turning, saw Mrs. McGuire with a triumphant smile
on her face.

"Why don't you run?" she said. "You can catch him."
"It isn't my brother," he answered, sullenly.

"I thought you was gone," she said.
"I am waiting for my brother."

"Thin you'll have to wait. You wanted to chate me, you haythen!
But Bridget McGuire ain't to be took in by such as you. You'd

better lave before my man comes home from his work, or he'll give
you lave of absence wid a kick."

Without waiting for an answer, Bridget shut the door, and bolted
it--leaving her enemy routed at all points.

In fact Pietro began to lose courage. He saw that he had a
determined foe to contend with. He had been foiled thus far in

every effort to obtain possession of Phil. But the more
difficult the enterprise seemed, the more anxious he became to

carry it out successfully. He knew that the padrone would not
give him a very cordialreception if he returned without Phil,

especially as he would be compelled to admit that he had seen
him, and had nevertheless failed to secure him. His uncle would

not be able to appreciate the obstacles he had encountered, but
would consider him in fault. For this reason he did not like to

give up the siege, though he saw little hopes of accomplishing
his object. At length, however, he was obliged to raise the

siege, but from a cause with which neither Phil nor his defender
had anything to do.

The sky, which had till this time been clear, suddenly darkened.
In ten minutes rain began to fall in large drops. A sudden

shower, unusual at this time of the year, came up, and
pedestrians everywhere, caught without umbrellas, fled

panic-stricken to the nearest shelter. Twice before, as we know,
Pietro had suffered from a shower of warm water. This, though

colder, was even more formidable. Vanquished by the forces of
nature, Pietro shouldered his instrument and fled incontinently.

Phil might come out now, if he chose. His enemy had deserted his
post, and the coast was clear.

"That'll make the haythen lave," thought Mrs. McGuire, who,
though sorry to see the rain on account of her washing, exulted

in the fact that Pietro was caught out in it.
She went to the front door and looked out. Looking up the

street, she just caught a glimpse of the organ in rapid retreat.
She now unbolted the door, the danger being at an end, and went

up to acquaint Phil with the good news.
"You may come down now," she said.

"Is he gone?" inquired Phil.
"Shure he's runnin' up the street as fast as his legs can carry

him."
"Thank you for saving me from him," said, Phil, with a great

sense of relief at the flight of his enemy.
"Whisht now; I don't nade any thanks. Come down by the fire

now."
So Phil went down, and Bridget, on hospitable thoughts intent,

drew her only rocking-chair near the stove, and forced Phil to
sit down in it. Then she told him, with evidentenjoyment, of

the trick which Pietro had tried to play on her, and how he had
failed.

"He couldn't chate me, the haythen!" she concluded. "I was too
smart for the likes of him, anyhow. Where do you live when you

are at home?"
"I have no home now," said Phil, with tears in his eyes.

"And have you no father and mother?"
"Yes," said Phil. "They live in Italy."

"And why did they let you go so far away?"
"They were poor, and the padrone offered them money," answered

Phil, forced to answer, though the subject was an unpleasant one.
"And did they know he was a bad man and would bate you?"

"I don't think they knew," said Phil, with hesitation. "My
mother did not know."

"I've got three childer myself," said Bridget; "they'll get wet
comin' home from school, the darlints--but I wouldn't let them go

with any man to a far country, if he'd give me all the gowld in
the world. And where does that man live that trates you so bad?"

"In New York."
"And does Peter--or whatever the haythen's name is--live there

too?"
"Yes, Pietro lives there. The padrone is his uncle, and treats

him better than the rest of us. He sent him after me to bring me
back."

"And what is your name? Is it Peter, like his?"
"No; my name is Filippo."

"It's a quare name."
"American boys call me Phil."

"That's better. It's a Christian name, and the other isn't.
Before I married my man I lived five years at Mrs. Robertson's,



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