by force, by a stranger,
before her eyes, in the middle of the day; but then it was suggested
that "nothing could be well termed odd that concerned little Ralph
Brandon, for hadn't he been bit last year by a mad dog, and, when so and
so had all died raving, he had never nothing at all happen to him."
When the stranger heard this story of the mad dog (which, by-the-by, was
fact, and I have the scars to this day), he shook me off, pale with
consternation, and was, no doubt, extremely happy to find that my little
teeth had not penetrated the skin. I believe that he heartily repented
him of his office. At length he lost all patience. "Woman," said he,
"send these people out of the room." When they had departed,
marvelling, he resumed: "I cannot lose my time in altercation; I am
commissioned to tell you, that if you keep the boy in one sense, you'll
have to keep him in all. You may be sure that I would not trouble
myself about such a little ill-bred wretch for a moment, if I did not
act with authority, and by orders. Give up the child directly (I was
now sobbing in her arms), take your last look at him, for you will never
see him again. Come, hand the young gentleman into the carriage."

"I won't go," I screamed out.

"We shall soon see that, Master Rattlin," said he, dragging me along,
resisting. I bawled out, "My name's not Master Rattlin--you're a liar--
and when father comes from the pit he'll wop you."

This threat seemed to have an effect the very reverse of what I had
intended. Perhaps he thought that he had already enough to contend
with, without the addition of the brawny arm of the sawyer. I was
forcibly lifted up, placed in the coach, and, as it drove rapidly away,
I heard, amidst the rattling of the wheels, the cries of her whom I
loved as a mother, exclaiming, "My Ralph--my dear Ralph!"

Behold me, then, "hot with the fray, and weeping from the fight,"
confined in a locomotive prison with my sullen captor. I blubbered in
one corner of the coach, and he surveyed me with stern indifference from
the other. I had now fairly commenced my journey through life, but this
beginning was anything but auspicious. At length, the carriage stopped
at a place I have since ascertained to be near Hatton Garden, on Holborn
Hill. We alighted, and walked into a house, between two motionless
pages, excessively well dressed. At first, they startled me, but I soon
discovered they were immense waxen dolls. It was a r