I'm a poor _orphanless_ child! I've got a father'n mother, but it's just the same as if I didn't, for they won't let me call 'em by it.

O, they didn't die, but they won't be any father'n mother to ME! "'What strange little girl is this ?' that's what my papa said.

'_ Looks_ like my daughter Alice!' O, I wish I could die!" "Come, come," said Lina; "let's go home.

Mother said you and I might have some macaroni cakes and lager beer, if we wouldn't let the rest of 'em see us at it." "I don't care anything about your _locker_ beer, Lina Rosenberg, nor your whiskey and tobacco pipes, either.

Nor neither, nor nothing," added the desolate child, standing "stock still," with the back of her head against a pile of bricks, her eyes closed, and her hands folded across her bosom.
"There, there; you're a pretty sight now, Dotty Dimple! What if you should freeze so! Come along and behave." "I can't, I can't!" "If you don't, Dotty, I'll have to go into that barber's shop.