with a bit of a bruise about her eye, as if somebody had been fighting
with her. I thought there'd be a lark when she left the little 'un in
your shop, so I just stopped to see. She bolted as if the bobbies were
after her."

"How long ago?" asked Oliver, anxiously.

"The clocks had just gone eight," he answered; "I've been watching for
you ever since."

"Why! that's a full hour ago," said the old man, looking wistfully down
the alley; "it's time she was come back again for her little girl."

[Illustration: THE LITTLE STRANGER.]

But there was no symptom of anybody coming to claim the little girl, who
stood very quietly at his side, one hand holding the dog fast by his ear,
and the other still lying in Oliver's grasp. The boy hopped on one foot
across the narrow alley, and looked up with bright, eager eyes into the
old man's face.

"I say," he said, earnestly, "don't you go to give her up to the p'lice.
They'd take her to the house, and that's worse than the jail. Bless yer!
they'd never take up a little thing like that to jail for a wagrant. You
just give her to me, and I'll take care of her. It 'ud be easy enough to
find victuals for such a pretty little thing as her. You give her up to
me, I say."

"What's your name?" asked Oliver, clasping the little hand tighter, "and
where do you come from?"