“For I aint, you must know,” said Betty, “much of a hand at reading writing-hand, though I can read my Bible and most print. And I do love a newspaper. You mightn’t think it, but Sloppy is a beautiful reader of a newspaper. He do the Police in different voices.”

The visitors again considered it a point of politeness to look at Sloppy, who, looking at them, suddenly threw back his head, extended his mouth to its utmost width, and laughed loud and long. At this the two innocents, with their brains in that apparent danger, laughed, and Mrs Higden laughed, and the orphan laughed, and then the visitors laughed. Which was more cheerful than intelligible.

Then Sloppy seeming to be seized with an industrious mania or fury, turned to at the mangle, and impelled it at the heads of the innocents with such a creaking and rumbling, that Mrs Higden stopped him.

“The gentlefolks can’t hear themselves speak, Sloppy. Bide a bit, bide a bit!”

“Is that the dear child in your lap?” said Mrs Boffin.

“Yes, ma’am, this is Johnny.”

“Johnny, too!” cried Mrs Boffin, turning to the Secretary; “already Johnny! Only one of the two names left to give him! He’s a pretty boy.”

With his chin tucked down in his shy childish manner, he was looking furtively at Mrs Boffin out of his blue eyes, and reaching his fat dimpled hand up to the lips of the old woman, who was kissing it by times.

“Yes, ma’am, he’s a pretty boy, he’s a dear darling boy, he’s the child of my own last left daughter’s daughter. But she’s gone the way of all the rest.”

“Those are not his brother and sister?” said Mrs Boffin. “Oh, dear no, ma’am. Those are Minders.”

“Minders?” the Secretary repeated,

“Left to he Minded, sir. I keep a Minding-School. I can take only three, on account of the Mangle. But I love children, and Four-pence a week is Four-pence. Come here, Toddles and Poddles.”

Toddles was the pet-name of the boy; Poddles of the girl. At their little unsteady pace, they came across the floor, hand-in-hand, as if they were traversing an extremely difficult road intersected by brooks, and, when they had had their heads patted by Mrs Betty Higden, made lunges at the orphan, dramatically representing an attempt to bear him, crowing, into captivity and slavery. All the three children enjoyed this to a delightful extent, and the sympathetic Sloppy again laughed long and loud. When it was discreet to stop the play, Betty Higden said “Go to your seats Toddles and Poddles,” and they returned hand-in- hand across country, seeming to find the brooks rather swollen by late rains.

“And Master — or Mister — Sloppy?” said the Secretary, in doubt whether he was man, boy, or what.

“A love-child,” returned Betty Higden, dropping her voice; “parents never known; found in the street. He was brought up in the — ” with a shiver of repugnance, “ — the House.”

“The Poor-house?” said the Secretary.

Mrs Higden set that resolute old face of hers, and darkly nodded yes.

“You dislike the mention of it.”

“Dislike the mention of it?” answered the old woman. “Kill me sooner than take me there. Throw this pretty child under cart- horses’ feet and a loaded waggon, sooner than take him there. Come to us and