With one hand he raised Dolly, who, frightened at her strange waking, was now sobbing bitterly, with the other he tried to detain Robin, but quick as thought the wiry boy escaped from his hands; he rushed out of the archway, down a back court, where he stood, in the bitter winter morning, trembling and shivering as much with anger as with cold. All night long he had been dreaming of Dolly; never, even for a moment did he lose the consciousness that she was by his side, and now, all in an instant, she had been torn away. He had been called a thief--the thief of the pretty little dear; now she was gone, and he should never, never see her again. It had been a short-lived and vivid pleasure; but now that it was over he felt very miserable--more miserable than he had ever felt in his dark little life before. Yesterday morning had been bad enough, with his racking cough and his empty pockets; but yesterday had been nothing to this day, for between this day and yesterday he had found and lost Dolly. He did not know until he had lost it what a difference a little love could make in his life. Why, with that pretty child in his arms, he had forgotten, actually and completely forgotten, his savage hunger. Well, he knew he must give her up; she was too sweet and too nice to share his miserable existence. He knew well, as he dropped off to sleep last night, that in the morning he must resign her. But he never meant to have her torn from him like this; he had pictured to himself at least one short walk with her warm arms clasped round his neck, a word or two more from the imperious baby-lips, and perhaps, best and most precious of all, another kiss from Dolly. Tears don't often come from poor little boys like Robin; but now a few did trickle down his pale cheeks, and his heart felt very sore. Why should he not weep? Standing there under that winter sky, the boy was neighbourless, friendless, homeless! No one owned him, no one cared for him; had not he cause for his tears? He wandered on until he came to Oxford Circus, where he was greeted by one of his companion thieves and pals. The lad whispered in his ear, "Does yer see that ere sharp-lookin' man a spyin' of yer?" "Yes," answered Robin listlessly; "wot of 'im?" "Wot of 'im?" mimicked his companion; "why, there's a deal of 'im to my way of thinkin'. He wants to prison yer hup in a school, lad, that's about it." At the word "school" Robin's face began to darken with anger and pain. "School!" he repeated; "I'm a goin' to no school--not I--my, but yesterday"---- "Yere's the 'spectre, as I'm alive!" interrupted the sharp boy, quickly vanishing from view; and in truth, before Robin had time to stir, the man who had watched him came up and laid a firm hand on his shoulder. "Where do you go to school, my lad?" he asked, in by no means an unkindly voice. "No where's," answered Robin. "Well, this must be seen to," taking out his note-book. "What's your name?"