Shortly before his eighth birthday a very dark time came to his adopted mother and himself. In the first place, the police got wind of the locality where they lived, and in considerable alarm the whole community had to break up. It was the middle of winter, and Helen and Robin found themselves penniless in the streets. That seemed a truly dismal night in the little fellow's life, when, supperless and homeless, he laid his head on his faithful Helen's breast, and cried himself to sleep. He remembered it when darker nights came by-and-by. For three months the two were almost starved. Wherever they went the police seemed to know them, and they found it nearly impossible to ply their evil trade. But at the end of three months the dark cloud appeared to roll away, and the happiest and most luxurious portion of Robin's young life arrived. Helen, finding herself so well known to the police, determined to shift her quarters. London was large; she might go to a part of London where her face, and the child's face, would be unfamiliar. Hitherto she had frequented the East-end; here she and those who lived like her might best pursue their evil sports; but the West could also afford her a shelter, and to the fashionable West-end she now directed her steps. Her first day there was marked with success. Spring was coming on, the gay world was in town. She stole ten shillings' worth of goods, and with the money thus secured took possession at once of a small attic in a court at the back of Westminster. How happy were she and Robin as they ate their first supper together in that wretched room! There was no furniture, neither bed nor chair, but on a couple of pen'orths of straw which Helen purchased they slept luxuriously, and awoke refreshed. "But 'tis an ugly room," said the petted child, looking round him as he demanded his bread and treacle the next morning. "Never mind, dearie; mother'll brighten it h'up for her pet," answered Helen, who could not bear to refuse him anything. She had again a successful day, but at night she brought into the empty room neither bed, chair, nor table, but two-and-sixpence worth of gaily coloured prints, which she proceeded to paste on the walls. This feat accomplished, both she and Robin considered the place to look both gay and home-like; nor did they for many days afterwards add furniture to their store. For six weeks they lived unmolested in this attic, and those six weeks were full of happiness to Robin. He had again enough and to spare, food to eat, a roof to shelter him. Helen was never so indulgent and loving, and, in addition, he had those coloured prints. Those brilliantly-coloured prints opened up a new world to Robin.