Harold. 'He's looking for work.'

'And before that?'

'He'd been in the Union out--oh! somewhere, I forgot where, but it's
a name in the Postal Guide.'

'Well, but you've not said who he is,' said Ellen.

'Who? why, I tell you, he's Paul Blackthorn.'

'But I suppose he had a father and mother,' said Ellen.

'No,' said Harold.

'No!' Ellen and Alfred cried out together.

'Not as ever he heard tell of,' said Harold composedly, as if this
were quite natural and common.

'And you could go and be raking with him like born brothers there!'
said Ellen, in horror.

'D'ye think I'd care for stuff like that?' said Harold. 'Why, he
sings--he sings better than Jack Lyte! He's learnt to sing, you
know. And he's such a comical fellow! he said Mr. Shepherd was like
a big pig on his hind legs; and when Mrs. Shepherd came out to count
the scraps after we had done, what does he do but whisper to me to
know how long our withered cyder apples had come to life!'