"Come in, my boy, and I'll give you a bit of breakfast with her and me." "You haven't got sich a thing as a daily paper, have you ?" asked Tony, in a patronizing tone.
"Not to-day's paper, I'm afraid," he said.
"I'm afraid not," continued Tony; "overslept yourself, eh?
Not as I can read myself; but there are folks going by as can, and might p'raps buy one here as well as anywhere else.

Shall I run and get 'em for you, now I'm on my legs ?" Oliver looked questioningly at the boy, who returned a frank, honest gaze, and said, "Honour bright!" as he held out his hand for the money.
There was some doubt in the old man's mind after Tony had disappeared as to whether he had not done a very foolish thing; but he soon forgot it when he returned to the breakfast-table; and long before he himself could have reached the place and returned, Tony was back again with his right number of papers.
Before many minutes Tony was sitting upon an old box at a little distance from the table, where Oliver sat with his grandchild.

A basin of coffee and a large hunch of bread rested upon his knees, and Beppo was sniffing round him with a doubtful air.

Dolly was shy in this strange company, and ate her breakfast with a sedate gravity which filled both her companions with astonishment and admiration.

When the meal was finished, old Oliver took his daughter's letter from his waistcoat pocket and read it aloud to Tony, who listened with undivided interest.
"Then she's your own little 'un," he said, with a sigh of disappointment.
"You'll never give her up to me, if you get tired of her,--nor to the p'lice neither," he added, with a brightening face.
"No, no, no!" answered Oliver, emphatically.