He was lolling in the lowest window-sill
of the house opposite, and watched Oliver and the little girl looking
about them with sundry signs of interest and amusement.
"She ain't nowhere in sight," he called across to them after a while,
"nor won't be, neither, I'll bet you. You're looking out for the little
un's mother, ain't you, old master?"
"Yes," answered Oliver; "do you know anything about her, my boy?"
"Nothink," he said, with a laugh; "only she looked as if she were up to
some move, and as I'd nothink particular on hand, I just followed her.
She was somethink like my mother, as is dead, not fat or rosy, you know,
with a bit of a bruise about her eye, as if somebody had been fighting
with her. I thought there'd be a lark when she left the little 'un in
your shop, so I just stopped to see. She bolted as if the bobbies were
after her."
"How long ago?" asked Oliver, anxiously.
"The clocks had just gone eight," he answered; "I've been watching for
you ever since."
"Why! that's a full hour ago," said the old man, looking wistfully down
the alley; "it's time she was come back again for her little girl."
[Illustration: THE LITTLE STRANGER.
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