He had never learned to play.
"Antony," said Mr.Ross--he was the only person who ever called him Antony, and it seemed to make more of a man of him--"what are you thinking to do when you leave here to-morrow ?" "I s'pose I must go back to my crossing," answered Tony, looking very grave.
"No, I think I can do better for you than that," said his friend, "I have a sister living out in the country, about fifty miles from London; and she wants a boy to help the gardener, and run on errands for the house.

She has promised to provide you with a home, and clothing, and to send you to school for two years, till you are about twelve, for we think you must be about ten years old now; and after that you shall have settled wages." Tony listened with a quick throbbing of his heart and a contraction in his throat, which hindered him from speaking all at once when Mr.Ross had finished.

What a grand thing it would be for himself! But then there were old Oliver and Dolly to be remembered.
"It 'ud do first-rate for me," he said at last, "and I'd try my best to help in the garden; but I couldn't never leave Mr.Oliver and the little girl.

She'd fret ever so; and he's gone so forgetful he'd lose his own head, if he could anyhow.

Why! of a morning they sell him any papers as they've too many of.