Old Hurricane once more raised his head, opened his ears and gave close attention.
One circumstance he had particularly remarked—the language used by the poor child during her examination was much superior to the slang she had previously affected, to support her assumed character of newsboy.
"Well, well—why do you pause? Go on—go on, my good boy—girl, I mean I" said the Recorder, in a tone of kind encouragement.
CHAPTER VI.
A SHORT, SAD STORY.
"Ah! poverty is a weary thing!
It burdeneth the brain,
It maketh even the little child
To murmur and complain."
"It is not much I have to tell," began Capitola. "I was brought up in Rag Alley and its neighborhood by an old woman named Nancy Grewell."
"Ah!" ejaculated Old Hurricane.