"There, now! What did I tell yer?" exclaimed the woman angrily, and
turning as if to go back. "Now come along, and I will give you to
Old Bogy."
"No, no! oh, please, don't! I will be good. I won't say a word any
more. I forgotten that time, I did;" and the timid child, pale and
trembling, clung to the wretch beside her as if she had been her
dearest friend.
"Well, then, don't go into fits, and I'll let you off this time; but
see that you don't open your head agin, or it'll be all up with
yer."
"Yes'm," said the poor child submissively; and, taking her once more
by the hand, the old woman led her rapidly along the filthy street,
now entirely dark except for the gaslights, and more strange to
'Toinette's eyes than Fairy-land would have been. As they turned the
corner, a tall, broad-shouldered man, dressed in a blue coat with
brass buttons, and a glazed cap, who stood leaning against the wall,
looked sharply at them, and called out,
"Hullo, Mother Winch! What's up to-night?"
"Nothing, yer honor,--nothing at all. Me and little Biddy Mahoney's
going to leave some duds at the pawnbroker's for her mother, who's
most dead with the fever."
"Well, well, go along; only look out you carry no more than you
honestly come by," said the policeman, walking leisurely up the
street.
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