s. 'I'll tell you what,' he
said, when he had got my confidence in this manner, 'you want three
things, my man: you want a new father, a new family, and a new name.
I'll be your father. I'll let you have the dogs for your brothers; and,
if you'll promise to be very careful of it, I'll give you my own
name into the bargain. Ozias Midwinter, Junior, you have had a good
breakfast; if you want a good dinner, come along with me!' He got up,
the dogs trotted after him, and I trotted after the dogs. Who was my new
father? you will ask. A half-breed gypsy, sir; a drunkard, a ruffian,
and a thief--and the best friend I ever had! Isn't a man your friend who
gives you your food, your shelter, and your education? Ozias Midwinter
taught me to dance the Highland fling, to throw somersaults, to walk
on stilts, and to sing songs to his fiddle. Sometimes we roamed the
country, and performed at fairs. Sometimes we tried the large towns, and
enlivened bad company over its cups. I was a nice, lively little boy of
eleven years old, and bad company, the women especially, took a fancy to
me and my nimble feet. I was vagabond enough to like the life. The dogs
and I lived together, ate, and drank, and slept together. I can't think
of those poor little four-footed brothers of mine, even now, without a
choking in the throat. Many is the beating we three took together; many
is the hard day's dancing we did together; many is the night we have
slept together, and whimpered together, on the cold hill-side. I'm not
trying to distress you, sir; I'm only telling you the truth. The life
with all its hardships was a life that fitted me, and the half-breed
gypsy who gave me his name, ruffian as he was, was a ruffian I liked."

"A man who beat you!" exclaimed Mr. Brock, in astonishment.

"Didn't I tell you just now, sir, that I lived with the dogs? and did
you ever hear of a dog who liked his master the worse for beating him?
Hundreds of thousands of miserable men, women, and children would have
liked that man (as I liked him) if he had always given them what he
always gave me--plenty to eat. It was stolen food mostly, and my new
gypsy father was generous with it. He seldom laid the stick on us when
he was sober; but it diverted him to hear us yelp when he was drunk. He
died drunk, and enjoyed his favorite amusement with his last breath. One
day (when I had been two years in his service), after giving us a good
dinner out on the moor, he sat down with his b