pursued Tony.

"Yes, yes; he'd be very angry," said old Oliver, thoughtfully; "it 'ud
grieve him to his heart. Why, he's always loved little children, and
never had them turned away from himself, whatever he was doing. If she
hadn't been my own little girl, I daren't have turned her out of my
doors. No, no, dear Lord, thee knows as I'd have taken care of her, for
thy sake."

He spoke absently, in a low voice, as though talking to some person
whom Tony could not see, and the boy was silent a minute or two,
thinking busily.

"How long have you worked for that master o' yours?" he asked, at last.

"Not very long," replied Oliver, regretfully. "I used to fancy I was
working for him years and years ago; but, dear me! it was poor sort
o'work; and now I can't do very much. Only he knows how old I am, and he
doesn't care so that I love him, which I do, Tony."

"I should think so!" said the boy, falling again into busy thought, from
which he aroused himself by getting up from his box, and rubbing his
fingers through his wet and tangled hair.

"He takes to children and little 'uns?" he said, in a questioning tone.

"Ay, dearly!" answered old Oliver.

"I reckon he'd scarcely take me for a man yet," said Tony, at the same
time drawing himself up to his full height; "though I don't know as I