which moth-eaten relic seemed to watch them with his solitary glass eye.
And ever the Spider's respect and admiration for the mild-eyed,
quiet-spoken champion waxed and grew.

"Bo!" said he, dexterously catching the toppling bird, glass case and
all, for the second time, and addressing Ravenslee with it clasped to
his heart, "bo," he repeated, his eyes shining, "I guess Joe Madden, the
greatest battler of 'em all, is--Joe Madden still. I've always wanted t'
meet with him, an' say--I wouldn't ha' missed him for a farm."

"Is that so!" exclaimed Mrs. Trapes, entering the room at this moment
with the tea-cloth, "well, now--you jest put 'im down--you jest put that
bird back again, Spider Connolly!"

"Yes, ma'am," quoth the Spider, all abashed humility.

"What you doin' with it, anyway?" she demanded, elbows jutted ominously;
"it's lost a eye, an' a cat got it once an' sp'iled it some, but I
treasure it fer reasons o' sentiment, an' if you think you c'n steal
it--"

"Not 'im, ma'am, not 'im!" piped the Old Un from the doorway, "it ain't
the pore lad's fault. It's Joe, blame it all on to Joe--Joe's got a bad
'eart, ma'am, a black, base-'earted perisher is Joe--so no jam for Joe,
ma'am, an' only one slice o' cake."

Here Ravenslee hastened to explain, whereupon Mrs. Trapes's grimness
abated, and her bristling elbows subsided; and now, perceiving how the
abashed Spider, meeting her eye, flushed, plucked at his cuffs, and
shuffled his feet, she reached out to pat his broad and drooping