"I'm sleepin' noo," he said, "sleepin' soond. Dinna say that I ever spoke till ye, for I'll deny it if ye do!" he said. Cecilia Tennant stood her ground bravely, though the newspapers on the floor rustled continuously. She wondered why the path of duty was such a cockroachy one. A moment afterward a grim-looking, hard-faced woman entered. She was a tall woman, with a hooked nose and broad masculine face. The eyes were at once fierce and suspicious. She marched straight round the counter, lifting the little flap at the back and letting it fall with a bang. The cat was sitting on the end of the counter nearest the door of the inner room. The woman took her hand and swept it from the counter, as though she had merely knocked off a little dust. The cat went into the inner room like a projectile. Then, having entrenched herself at the back of the counter, the fierce-eyed woman turned sharp round and faced Celie Tennant. "Well?" she said, with a certain defiance in her tone such as women only use to one another, which was at once depreciatory and pitiful. The Junior Partner would have turned and fled, but Celie Tennant was afraid of no woman that walked. "I came," she said, clearly and coldly, "to ask about the situation of message-boy for one of my Mission lads. I was sent here from the office of the newspaper. Has the situation been filled?" "What is the boy's name?" asked the woman, twitching the level single line of her black brows at her visitor. "His name is Charles Kelly." "Son o' Tim Kelly that leeves in the Brickfield?" asked the woman quickly. "I believe that is his father's name," said Celie, giving glance for glance. "Then we dinna want the likes o' him here!" said the woman, half turning on her heel with a certain dark contempt. "But my name is Cecilia Tennant of Glenleven Road, and I am quite willing to give security for the boy—to a reasonable amount, that is——" continued Celie, who had a practical mind and much miniature dignity. "Will ye leave the money?" asked the woman, as if a thought struck her. "Certainly not," replied Celie, "but I will write you a line stating that I hold myself responsible for anything he is proved guilty of stealing, to the extent of ten pounds." It was thus that Cleg Kelly became newsboy and general assistant to Mistress Roy and her husband at Roy's corner. As Celie went out, she heard Mr. Roy stretching himself and yawning, as though awakening out of a deep sleep. "Wha's that ye hae had in?" he inquired pleasantly. "What business is that o' yours, ye muckle slabber?" returned his wife with instant aggression. And the cockroaches continue to rustle all the time beneath the carpet of old newspapers. ADVENTURE VIII. THE FLIGHT OF SHEEMUS.