Suddenly up behind her there came a rough, rude errand-boy, nine or
ten years of age; a giant he looked by the fairy-child, as she
fluttered along. I don't know how it was, but in some awkward way
he knocked the poor little girl down upon the hard pavement as he
brushed rudely past, not much caring whom he hurt, so that he got
along.
The child arose, sobbing with pain; and not without cause, for blood
was dropping down from the face, but a minute before so fair and
bright--dropping down on the pretty frock, making those scarlet
marks so terrible to little children.
The nurse, a powerful woman, had seized the boy, just as Mr. Carson
(who had seen the whole transaction) came up.
"You naughty little rascal! I'll give you to a policeman, that I
will! Do you see how you've hurt the little girl? Do you?"
accompanying every sentence with a violent jerk of passionate anger.
The lad looked hard and defying; but withal terrified at the threat
of the policeman, those ogres of our streets to all unlucky urchins.
The nurse saw it, and began to drag him along, with a view of making
what she called "a wholesome impression.
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