overnor," said the same clear voice that he had even at first supposed
to belong to a girl--"Governor, don't you keep on letting out that way!
You don't know nothing! You're in the Recorder's Court! If you don't
mind your eye they'll commit you for contempt!"

"Will they? Then they'll do well, my lad! Lass, I mean. I plead guilty
to contempt. Send a child like you to the----! They shan't do it!
Simply, they shan't do it! I, Major Warfield of Virginia, tell you so,
my boy--girl, I mean!"

"But, you innocent old lion, instead of freeing me, you'll find yourself
shut up between four walls! and very narrow ones at that, I tell you!
You'll think yourself in your coffin! Governor, they call it The Tombs!"
whispered the child.

"Attention!" said the clerk.

The little prisoner turned and faced the court. And the "old lion"
buried his shaggy, gray head and beard in his hands and groaned aloud.

"Now, then, what is your name, my lad--my girl, I should say?" inquired
the clerk.

"Capitola, sir."

Old Hurricane pricked up his ears and raised his head, muttering to
himself: "Cap-it-o-la! That's a very odd name! Can't surely be two in
the world of the same! Cap-it-ola!--if it should be my Capitola, after
all! I shouldn't wonder at all! I'll listen and say nothing." And with
this wise resolution, Old Hurricane again dropped his head upon his
hands.

"You say your name is Capitola--Capitola what?" inquired the clerk,
continuing the examination.

"Nothing sir."

"Nothing! What do you mean?"

"I have no name but Capitola, sir."

"Who is your father?"

"Never had any that I know, sir."

"Your mother?"

"Never had a mother either, sir, as ever I heard."

"Where do you live?"

"About in spots in the city, sir."

"Oh--oh--oh!" groaned old Hurricane within his hands.

"What is your calling?" inquired the clerk.

"Selling newspapers, carrying portmanteaus and packages sweeping before
doors, clearing off snow, blacking boots and so on."

"Little odd jobs in general, eh?"

"Yes, sir, anything that I can turn my hand to and get to do."

"Boy--girl, I should say--what tempted you to put yourself into male
attire?"

"Sir?"

"In boy's clothes, then?"

"Oh, yes; want, sir--and--and--danger, sir!" cried the little prisoner,
putting her hands to a face crimson with blushes and for the first time
since her arrest upon the eve of sobbing.

"Oh--oh--oh!" groaned Old Hurricane from his chair.

"Want? Danger? How is