ys.

"Yes, I am," replied the old gentleman; "but I am not sure that this boy
actually took the handkerchief. I would rather not press the case."

"Must go before the magistrate now, sir," replied the man. "His worship
will be disengaged in half a minute. Now, young gallows!"

This was an invitation for Oliver to enter through a door which he
unlocked as he spoke, and which led into a stone cell. Here he was
searched, and, nothing being found upon him, locked up.

The old gentleman looked almost as unhappy as Oliver when the key grated
in the lock.

At last this gentleman, Mr. Brownlow, was summoned before the
magistrate--a very mean man, whose name was Fang. Oliver was brought in,
and the magistrate, after using very abusive language to Mr. Brownlow,
had him sworn, but would not let him tell his story. He flew into a rage
and told the policeman to tell what happened.

The policeman, with becoming humility, related how he had taken the boy;
how he had searched Oliver, and found nothing on his person; and how
that was all he knew about it.

"Are there any witnesses?" inquired Mr. Fang.

"None, your worship," replied the policeman.

Mr. Fang sat silent for some minutes, and then, turning round to Mr.
Brownlow, said in a towering passion:

"Do you mean to state what your complaint against this boy is, man, or
do you not? You have been sworn. Now, if you stand there, refusing to
give evidence, I'll punish you for disrespect to the bench."

With many interruptions, and repeated insults, Mr. Brownlow contrived to
state his case; observing that, in the surprise of the moment, he had
run after the boy because he saw him running away.

"He has been hurt already," said the old gentleman, in conclusion. "And
I fear," he added, with great energy, looking toward the bar, "I really
fear that he is ill."

"Oh! yes, I dare say!" said Mr. Fang, with a sneer. "Come, none of your
tricks here, you young vagabond; they won't do. What's your name?"

Oliver tried to reply, but his tongue failed him. He was deadly pale;
and the whole place seemed turning round and round.

"What's your name, you hardened scoundrel?" demanded Mr. Fang.

At this point of the inquiry, Oliver raised his head, and, looking
round with imploring eyes, asked feebly for a drink of water.

"Stuff and nonsense!" said Fang; "don't try to make a fool of me."

"I think he really is ill, your worship," said the officer.

"I know better," said Mr. Fang.