"He hasn't got any father or mother.

Didn't you come out of the workhouse, pauper ?" "No," I said steadily, as my fingers itched to strike him.
"Here, what was your father ?" said Courtenay.
I did not answer.
"Do you hear?
And say `sir' when you speak," cried Courtenay with a brutal insolent manner that seemed to fit with his dark thin face.

"I say, do you hear, boy ?" "Yes," I replied.
"Yes, _sir_, you beggar," cried Courtenay.

"What was your father ?" "He don't know," cried Philip grinning.

"Pauper boys don't know.
They're all mixed up together, and they call 'em Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, or names of streets or places, anything.