But Isaac only smiled, and the task commenced--no light one--of turning over the huge stack of waste-paper piled up before them. Dust, dirt, and mildew; brief-paper, copying-paper, newspaper, old books, old magazines and pamphlets, account-books with covers and account-books without; paper in every phase; while eagerly was everything in the shape of an account-book seized upon, and the search continued until, faint and weary, they had gone through the whole heap, when with a despairing, doleful look Septimus gazed upon Matt. "I'll take my Bible oath it was in a book I saw laid upon that heap. Now then, where's some more?" and the old man said it feebly, as if nearly exhausted. "No more anywheres," said Mrs Gross assuringly, as she smoothed her husband's oily hair. "Sure?" cried Matt. Mrs Gross nodded, and retied the ribbon which confined her husband's locks. "Where is it, then?" cried Matt. "Where is it?" repeated Mrs Gross. "Why, if it ain't here, in this heap, it's everywheres. It's sold, and burnt, and wrapped round 'bacca, and butter, and all sorts." "Hadn't we better go, Matt?" whispered Septimus, dreamily washing his hands together after his dry custom. "S'pose we had," muttered Matt. "Just, too, sir, as I'd made so sure as it was all coming right, and for the second time, too. Never mind, sir, it'll all come right yet. Third time never fails. What do you say to hunting up the Miss Thingumy at Finsbury, and hearing what she's got to say?--plenty, depend upon it. News, perhaps, and it can't do no harm." But Septimus Hardon was in a weary, absent fit, and went away muttering homewards, as, worn-out and weak, Matt sat down upon the waste-paper ruins of the palace he had built in his own mind, and grimly listened to the congratulations of his friends upon his return. Volume Three, Chapter VI. WEAKNESS AND STRENGTH.