d rather have a crossing, and be my own
master. But if I get hard up, do you think he'd take to me, if you spoke
a word for me?"

"Are you sure you don't know anything about him?" asked Oliver.

"Not I; how should I?" answered Tony. "Why, you don't s'pose as I know
all the great folks in London, though I've seen sights and sights of 'em
riding about in their carriages. I told you I weren't much bigger nor her
there when mother died, and I've picked up my living up and down the
streets anyhow, and other lads have helped me on, till I can help 'em on
now. It don't cost much to keep a boy on the streets. There's nothink to
pay for coals, or rent, or beds, or furniture, or anythink; only your
victuals, and a rag now and then. All I want's a broom and a crossing,
and then shouldn't I get along just? But I don't know how to get 'em."

"Perhaps the Lord Jesus would give them to you, if you'd ask him," said
Oliver, earnestly.

"Who's he?" inquired Tony, with an eager face.

"Him--Christ. It's his other name," answered the old man.

"Ah! I see," he said, nodding. "Well, if I can't get 'em myself,
I'll think about it. He'll want me to work for him, you know. Where
does he live?"

"I'll tell you all about him, if you'll come to see me," replied Oliver.

"Well," said the boy, "I'll just look in after Friday, and see if the
little 'un's mother's come back. Goodbye,--good-bye, little miss."

He could take Dolly's hand into his own this morning, and he looked down
curiously at it,--a small, rosy, dimpled hand, such as he had never seen
before so closely. A lump rose in his throat, and his eyelids smarted
with tears again. It was such a little thing, such a pretty little thing,
he said to himself, covering it fondly with his other hand. There was no
fear that Tony would forget to come back to old Oliver's house.

"Thank you for my breakfast," he said, with a choking voice; "only if
I do come to see you, it'll be to see her again--not for anythink as
I can get."

CHAPTER V.

FORSAKEN AGAIN.

The next three days were a season of unmixed happiness to old Oliver. The
little child was so merry, yet withal so gentle and sweet-tempered, that
she kept him in a state of unwearied delight, without any alloy of
anxiety or trouble. She trotted at his side with short, running
footsteps, when he went out early in the morning to fetch his daily stock
of newspapers. She watched him set his room tidy, and made believe to
help hi