The International
"It's a sad little story," said she with a sigh and a pitiful look at the boy. "What are you doing with the boy, Georgie?"
Georgie was silent.
"What have you brought him away for?"
"From the workhouse!" Georgie broke out hotly. "Think of it! Have you ever been in a workhouse, Drusie? Would you like to think old Muffin face was going to be brought up in a uniform, to a set pattern, on skilly?"
"I don't believe there is such a thing as skilly now," I said quickly, "and, Georgie—of course it seems a pity, but it is a terrible necessity, you see. Thousands of them have to be turned over to the parish every year. This little man must take his chance with the others, I am afraid."
Georgie flushed indignantly and moved restlessly. Taffy grunted in his sleep and buried his grimy face farther into the gorgeous waistcoat.
"Look at him," Georgie said. "When I saw him kicking his absurd apology for
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