"Oo's a-kiddin' now?
An' see 'ere, Arthur Miles--it don't matter with me, a lie up or down; I'm on'y Tilda.
But don't you pick up the 'abit, or else you'll annoy me.

I can't tell why ezactly, but it don't _sit_ on you." "Tilda ?" The boy caught up her name like an echo.

"Tilda what ?" "The Lord knows.

Tilda _nothin'_--Tilda o' Maggs's, if you like, an' nobody's child, anyway." "But that isn't _possible_," he said, after thinking a moment.
"They called me that sometimes, back--back--" "At the Orph'nige, eh?
'Oo called you that?
The Doctor?
No," said Tilda hurriedly, as he halted with a shiver, "don't look be'ind; 'e's not anywhere near.

An' as for the Good Samaritan, you're wrong about that, too; for _'ere's_ the Good Samaritan!" She pointed at the building, and he stared.