“It’s a large wax doll, for my little niece,” said her patron. “You haven’t got any dolls, I suppose?”
“I had one once,” said Tom. “It was made of rags. But granny threw it into the fire.”
“I suppose you were sorry.”
“I was then; but I’m too old for dolls now.”
“How old are you?”
“I aint sure. Somewheres about twelve.”
“You live with your granny, then?”
“No, I don’t,—not now.”
“Why not?”
“She wanted to lick me, so I run away.”