Owen Oliver

“ She breathed upon the boot she was polishing.
"I wouldn't take nothink o' yourn, strike me if I would."
She looked such a poor, thin, miserable child.
"She's 'andy," Jane suggested. "I dunno but we might do without the charwoman on Fridays, if I 'ad 'er to 'elp me."
Father rang the bell, as a warning that he would be down in a few minutes. I finished off the bacon, while Jane made the coffee.
I might ask him," I said doubtfully. It is not good to ask father things in the morning, because he has a liver. People who have livers do not want to do what any one asks them then. ”

“ So father took the address, and the man took some more whiskey. Then I gave Florry the doll's furniture, and they went. Just at the door the man turned round.
"There's somethink in them ideas of yourn, guv'nor," he said. "Blowed if I don't give 'em a trial!"
When last we heard of them he was doing very well as a costermonger. "Yer should see me and 'im an' the donkey," Florry said. "It's a fair treat!" ”

“ I shut the door.
"Really, Jane, you are worse than a baby. Of course it was a cat."
"It wasn't no sich thing. It was a kid."
"A what?" I opened the door again.
"A little gal. 'Bout the size of Bob——" I glared at her. "Master Robert, I mean. An' wot I want to know is, wot am I to do with 'er?"
"Send her home, of course."
"Sez she ain't got none."
I saw how warm the bed looked, and thought how cold the coal house must be.
"We might give her something to eat, perhaps," I said. "I'll be down in a minute. Do look sharp with father's breakfast. ”

“ He looked surprised. "Blessed if I didn't think she'd lifted it. An' promised 'er a proper 'idin', I tell yer."
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself! The idea of a great man like you hitting a little girl!" ”

“ Jane wiped her eyes. "Yer won't never see 'er no more." Jane has a good heart, but she has not a good head; so I knew she was sure to be wrong.
Florry came to our house that very afternoon. A great rough man had hold of her arm. He looked very savage, and Jane was afraid to answer the door; so I went myself. He did not do anything to me; only stood twiddling his cap and shifting from one leg to the other.
"Are you Florry's father?" I asked.
"Meanin' 'er?"
"Yes. We couldn't call her 'Pincher,' don't you see?"
He nodded, and pointed to the doll in her arms. "Sez yer give it 'er." ”

“ Jest for a purse wot 'adn't only 'levenpence 'apenny in it. Crule 'ard ev'rybody called it. An' doesn't come out till three days 'fore Chris'mas."
She commenced scraping the mud off another boot.
"Who looks after you?"
She grinned. "I looks arter myself."
"You ought to be in the workhouse."
She flushed through the dirt.
"S'pose your far'er got took," she inquired: "like anybody might. An' s'pose 'e sez to yer, 'There's four tannera an' a few coppers under the mattress; an' mind yer keep respecketble till my 'olidays over'? You wouldnt go to no work'us, would yer?" ”

“ I keep house for father and the boys. Jane is our "general." She is a good girl to work, but she has no idea of managing.
"Tell me quickly," I said. The cold seemed to come in with a rush when I opened the door.
"I jest got down in an 'urry, an'——"
"Your time is seven!" She does not get up as she should.
"There wasn't no coal in the scuttle," she went on, "wot I meant to fill las' night, as you tole me, an' didn't—seein' as 'ow you 'urried me off to bed an' never 'oldin' with late hours myself, wot I wasn't brought up to, an'——"
"Never mind about late hours. What is it?" ”