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 ?" "From nowhere particular," answered the boy; "and my name's Antony; Tony, for short.

I used to have another name; mother told it me afore she died, but it's gone clean out o' my head.

Tony I am, anyhow, and you can call me by it, if you choose." "How old are you, Tony ?" inquired Oliver, still lingering on the threshold, and looking up and down with his dim eyes.
"Bless yer! I don't know," replied Tony; "I weren't much bigger nor her when mother died, and I've found myself ever since.

I never had any father." "Found yourself!" repeated the old man, absently.
"Ah, it's not bad in the summer," said Tony, more earnestly than before: "and I could find for the little 'un easy enough.

I sleep anywhere, in Covent Garden sometimes, and the parks--anywhere as the p'lice 'ill let me alone.