Alone In London
He spoke in a beseeching tone, and old Oliver looked down upon him through his spectacles, with a closer survey than he had given to him before. The boy's face was pale and meagre, with an unboyish sharpness about it, though he did not seem more than nine or ten years old. His glittering eyes were filled with tears, and his colourless lips quivered. He wiped away the tears roughly upon the ragged sleeve of his jacket.
"I never were such a baby before," said Tony, "only she is such a nice little thing, and such a tiny little 'un. You'll keep her, master, won't you? or give her up to me?"
"Ay, ay! I'll take care of her," answered Oliver, "till her mother comes back for her. She'll come pretty soon, I know. But she wants her supper now, doesn't she?"
He stooped down to bring his face nearer to the child's, and s