‘Stop him, stop him!’ cries the woman, almost breathless. ‘Stop him, sir!’
He darts across the road into the boy’s path, but the boy is quicker than he, makes a curve, ducks, dives under his hands, comes up half-a-dozen yards beyond him, and scours away again. Still the woman follows, crying, ‘Stop him, sir, pray stop him!’
It was a thing to look at. The three children close together, and two of them relying solely on the third, and the third so young and yet with an air of age and steadiness that sat so strangely on the childish figure. “Charley, Charley!” said my guardian. “How old are you?” “Over thirteen, sir,” replied the child. “Oh! What a great age,” said my guardian. “What a great age, Charley!” I cannot describe the tenderness with which he spoke to her, half playfully yet all the more compassionately and mournfully.