During the evening, Joel brought out a backgammon board, and proposed to Harry to play. If there would have been anything to read Harry would have preferred entertaining himself in that way, but Mr. Fox didn’t appear to be literary. There were a few books in the house, but they were not of an attractive character. Partly in backgammon, partly in conversation with the son and heir of the Foxes, the time passed till half-past eight o’clock. “Joel, you can go to bed,” said his mother. “It is half-past eight.” Joel yawned, and interposed no objection. “You may as well go, too, Harry,” said Mrs. Fox. “I am ready to go to bed,” said Harry. In fact, he felt rather sleepy, and anticipated little pleasure in sitting up in the far from exciting company of Mr. and Mrs. Fox. “Joel!” said his mother, “take this candle and show Harry upstairs in the attic chamber.” “Yes, mam.” So, preceded by Joel, Harry went up two flights of stairs to the attic room reserved for him. It was the only room that had been finished off, and the garret outside looked dark and forbidding. “I would be scared to sleep up here,” said his companion. “I shall not be at all frightened, Joel,” said Harry. “Good-night. Just hold the candle while I go downstairs.” When he was fairly all alone, Harry began to look about him, to ascertain in what kind of quarters he was to pass the night. To begin with he examined the door, he ascertained that it was a common latch door, and there was no lock. There was nothing to prevent anyone entering the room during the night. There was a small cot bed in one corner, a chair, and an old wooden chest. There was no bureau nor washstand. The absence of the latter annoyed Harry. He learned afterward that he was expected to go downstairs and wash in a large basin in the kitchen sink--wiping his face on a brown, roll towel which was used by the entire family. This was quite unsatisfactory to Harry, who was scrupulously neat in his tastes. “This isn’t a palace exactly,” Harry said to himself. Then came the thought, “What was he to do with his money?” Now, it so happened that Harry was the possessor of two pocketbooks--one--shabby, and well worn, which he had failed to throw away on buying another just before he left home. In connection with this, a scheme for outwitting Mr. Fox came into his mind. He folded up a fragment of newspaper, and put it into the old pocketbook, bulging it out till it looked well filled, and this he left in the pocket of his pantaloons. “Now to hide the other,” said he to himself. He looked about the room seeking for some place of concealment. Finally he noticed in one portion of the floor a square board, which looked as if it might be lifted. He stooped over and succeeded in raising it. The space beneath was about a foot in depth--the lower level being the lathing and plastering of the room below.