Ris is my little dog, Beppo."
She introduced the dog by pushing its nose into his hand, and Beppo
complacently wagged his tail and licked the old man's withered fingers.
"What brings you here in my shop, my little woman?" asked Oliver.
"Mammy brought me," she said, with a stifled sob; "she told me run in
rere, Dolly, and stay till mammy comes back, and be a good girl always.
Am I a good girl?"
"Yes, yes," he answered, soothingly; "you're a very good little girl, I'm
sure; and mother 'ill come back soon, very soon. Let us go to the door,
and look for her."
He took her little hand in his own; such a little hand it felt, that he
could not help tightening his fingers fondly over it; and then they stood
for a few minutes on the door-sill, while old Oliver looked anxiously up
and down the alley. At the greengrocer's next door there flared a bright
jet of gas, and the light shone well into the deepening darkness. But
there was no woman in sight, and the only person about was a ragged boy,
barefoot and bareheaded with no clothing but a torn pair of trousers,
very jagged about the ankles, and a jacket through which his thin
shoulders displayed themselves.
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