Congratulating himself upon the escape he had had of losing his precious liquor in his encounter with Felix on the stairs, Muzzy, hugging the bottle to his breast, mounted to the one room in the garret which formed his home. The room was not so dark that he could not see shadows on the walls, which as he opened the door seemed to be imbued with weird animation. His own shadow, as he stood in the centre of the room, assumed monstrous proportions, and covered one side of the wall and ceiling; there was something so threatening in it, and so dreadfully suggestive to the old man, that he hastened, with trembling fingers, to light a candle, still keeping the bottle hugged to his breast the while as tenderly as if it were human. The candle being lighted, he felt as if he had escaped some great danger, and his manner became more assured. Before laying the bottle on the mantelshelf, he looked at it wishfully, and uncorking it, was about to drink, when he closed his lips with a snap, and resisted the temptation. Taking off his hat, he produced from the interior a flower which was stuck in the lining for safety. This flower was evidently intended for a special purpose, which, had he needed any reminding, recurred to him as he looked round the room. It was very poorly furnished, containing merely a bed, two or three chairs, and a table. But everything was tidy and in its place. The bed was made, and the little piece of faded carpet in front of the fender had been newly swept and put straight. He opened a little cupboard, and saw the few pieces of crockery it contained set in their proper places. Indeed there was about the whole place an order and cleanliness one would scarcely have expected from the appearance of the owner. "Good girl, good girl!" muttered Muzzy, as he noted these evidences of comfort; "there are few like her, I should say."