iliar with the shapes, and in utter darkness as to the meaning, of
those mysterious symbols so abundant over the doors and at corners of the
streets, and on the doors and in the windows. To see people read, and to
see people write, and to see the postman deliver letters, and not to have
the least idea of all that language,--to be to all of it stone blind and
dumb.

It must be very puzzling to be hustled and jostled, and moved on, and to
really feel that I have no business here or there or anywhere; and yet to
be perplexed by the consideration that I _am_ here somehow, too, and
everybody overlooked me until I became the creature that I am.

One cold winter night when Jo was shivering near his crossing, a stranger
passed him; turned, looked at him intently, then came back and began to
ask him questions from which he found out that Jo had not a friend in the
world.

"Neither have I, not one," added the man, and gave him the price of a
supper and lodging. And from that day Jo was no longer friendless, for the
stranger often spoke to him, and asked him whether he slept sound at
night, and how he bore cold and hunger; and whether he ever wished to die;
and other strange questions. Then when the man had no money he would say,
"I am as poor as you to-day, Jo," but when he had any he always shared it
with Jo.

But there came a time not long after this, when the stranger was found
dead in his bed, in the house of Crook, the rag-and-bottle merchant, where
he had lodgings; and nothing could be found out about his life or the
reason for his sudden death. So a jury had to be brought together to
ferret out the mystery, if possible, and to discover whether the man's
death was accidental or whether he died by his own hand. No one knew him,
and he had never been seen talking to a human soul except the boy that
swept the crossing, down the lane over the way, round the
corner,--otherwise Jo.

So Jo was called in as a witness at the inquest. Says the coroner, "Is
that boy here?"

Says the beadle, "No, sir, he is not here."

Says the coroner, "Go and fetch him then."

"Oh, here's the boy, gentlemen!"

Here he is, very muddy, very hoarse, very ragged. Now, boy! But stop a
minute. Caution. This boy must be put through a few preliminary paces.

Name Jo. Nothink else that he knows on. Don't know that everybody has two
names. Don't know that Jo is short for a longer name. Thinks it long
enough for him. Spell it? No. He can't spell it.