Willie got up and fetched a large old family Bible from a shelf, and laid it on the table before his mother, who read a chapter and prayed with her son; after which Willie gave her one of his "roystering" kisses and went to bed. The lamps had been lighted for some time next night, and the shop-windows were pouring forth their bright rays, making the streets appear as light as day, when Willie found himself in the small disreputable street near London Bridge in which Cattley the clown dwelt. Remembering the directions given to him by little Jim Cattley, he soon found the underground abode near the burnt house, the ruins of which had already been cleared away and a considerable portion of a new tenement erected. If the stair leading to the clown's dwelling was dark, the passage at the foot of it was darker; and as Willie groped his way carefully along, he might have imagined it to be a place inhabited only by rats or cats, had not gleams of light, and the sound of voices from sundry closed doors, betokened the presence of human beings. Of the compound smells peculiar to the place, those of beer and tobacco predominated. At the farther end of this passage, there was an abrupt turn to the left, which brought the boy unexpectedly to a partially open door, where a scene so strange met his eyes that he involuntarily stood still and gazed. In a corner of the room, which was almost destitute of furniture, a little girl, wan, weary, and thin, lay on a miserable pallet, with scanty covering over her. Beside her stood Cattley--not, as when first introduced, in a seedy coat and hat; but in full stage costume--with three balls on his head, white face, triangular roses on his cheeks, and his mouth extended outward and upward at the corners, by means of red paint. Little Jim sat on the bed beside his sister, clad in pink skin-tights, with cheeks and face similar to his father, and a red crest or comb of worsted on his head. "Ziza, darling, are you feeling better, my lamb?" said the elder clown, with a gravity of expression in his real mouth that contrasted strangely with the expression conveyed by the painted corners. "No, father, not much; but perhaps I'm gettin' better, though I don't feel it," said the sweet, faint voice of the child, as she opened her large hollow eyes, and looked upward. "So, that's the fairy!" thought Willie sadly, as he gazed on the child's beautiful though wasted features. "We'll have done d'rectly, darling," said the clown tenderly; "only one more turn, and then we'll leave you to rest quietly for some hours. Now, then, here we are again!" he added, bounding into the middle of the room with a wild laugh. "Come along, Jim, try that jump once more." Jim did not speak; but pressing his lips to his sister's brow, leaped after his sire, who was standing an a remarkably vigorous attitude, with his legs wide apart and his arms akimbo, looking back over his shoulder.