She laid her little head against Robin's shoulder, while he piled the warm, clean straw thicker about her. Suddenly, when he thought she was really asleep, she started up. "Bad, tupid boy! you was lettin' me dop off to seep wifout saying my py-airs." "Wot h'ever's them?" said Robin. Unheeding him, the child scrambled to a kneeling posture, folded her hands, looked up devoutly. "'Our Father,'" said Dolly. Then she paused, gazed hard at Robin, said "Our Father" again, then demanded, "What nex, boy, what the odder words? Dolly forgets." "Dunno, missy; dunno nothink 'bout it." "Tupid! Well 'Our Father' must do for py-air until I get to my mamma. Now, my verse, my littlest verse, for I so seepy. 'God is love.' What I say, tupid boy?" "'God is love,' missy." "Yes, God love Dolly, and poor, wagged, tupid boy. Good-night, wagged boy; you may go on when you is rested." The lips of the beautiful, high-born child were raised to the lips of the street Arab and the thief; a moment later and two pair of eyes were closed, and two little hearts were for the present at rest. Perhaps their guardian angels watched over the children--doubtless their _Father_ did. CHAPTER II. _HOW THE STREET CHILDREN LIVE._ Early, very early in the morning, the full blaze of a policeman's lantern was turned upon Robin and Dolly, and constable 21Y called out in his harshest tones-- "Now, then, young warmint, what h'ever is your little game? Why, I never!"--as his eye fell on Dolly--"ef this ain't Colonel L'Estrange's child, and the whole place in a hue and cry after her. So you wanted to steal her, you little thief. You'll soon know the right of this 'ere job."