They were whispering to each other.
“I could see at a glance that he was no common boy,” murmured the younger female. He’s a brave little fellow—that’s quite evident.”
“Oh! clearly so,” returned the other; “but what of that?”
“I tell you he comes from a good stock—I’m sure of it. I’ll wager my existence that his father was a gentleman. Look at his hands, how small and delicate they are; look at his beautifully-formed features. Perhaps you can see no further than his smock frock.”
“Perhaps I am not able to understand these matters as well as you,” answered the elder female, looking abstractedly on the dirt-begrimed floor of the apartment. “We haven’t all the same powers of observation.”
“I dont think I am mistaken in my estimate of the lad. I don’t believe he is a low fellow, like the rest of the lawless young ruffians we see around us. We are all of us liable to mistakes; but that is the impression I have formed of him.”
“I don’t say you are mistaken. Have your way. Speak to him, if you will.”
“I am determined to do so,” said the youngest of the two women. “You may think me self-willed—that you have often said—but what of that?”
Alf Purvis had been looking curiously at the speaker during the foregoing conversation. When he had first entered the kitchen he had not been aware of their presence; but now his attention was attracted towards them, and his eyes were rivetted on their faces.
The younger of the two women beckoned to the young birds’-nest seller.