I appeared at the police court, and, questioned by the magistrate, I told my story truly.

It was the every-day story of thousands of children like me; but it had one element of interest in it.

I confessed to having had a father (he was then dead) who had been a man of rank; and I owned (just as openly as I owned everything else) that I had never applied to him for help, in resentment of his treatment of my mother.

This incident was new, I suppose; it led to the appearance of my 'case' in the newspapers.
The reporters further served my interests by describing me as 'pretty and interesting.' Subscriptions were sent to the court.

A benevolent married couple, in a respectable sphere of life, visited the workhouse to see me.