“But—where are you going to lay him?” inquired Everage, glancing at the old woman’s foul bed with a visible shudder. “Oh, your honor, it’s all right. He shall sleep with me,” said the crone. “No, I would rather he should not. Can’t he sleep with the girl?” “But she shares my bed, your honor.” “Have you no other bedding?” he inquired, glancing around the room. “Lord love you, sir, where would the likes of us get it? No, your honor, you see all we have.” “Where do the men sleep?” “La, sir, anywheres or nowheres! most in general nowheres! If so be they happen to be at home a night they just fling themselves down onto the floor.” “Well,” sighed the poor gentleman, “I suppose there in no help for it to-night, and he must sleep as he can, but to-morrow I must get some clean bedding for his use. I wish you to take good care of the little fellow for the few hours or days he will be with you; but I must get him out of the country as soon as possible.” With Everage “as soon as possible” meant as soon as by any means he could raise the money to do so. “If you please, sir——” began Meg, in a timid voice. “Well, my girl, what is it?” inquired Everage, turning and looking at her, and thinking what a fine frank face was hers, notwithstanding that she was the child and companion of thieves and outcasts. “If you please, sir, I would not lay him on that bed. He ain’t hardened to it, and he could not sleep, sir. It is full of bugs,” said Meg. “But what’s to be done? You can’t hold him in your arms all night.” “’Deed I’d sooner do it, sir, than see him eat up alive. But please, sir, if so be I might make so bold——” “Yes, yes, to be sure. Go on.” —“The shops is all open yet, sir, and if so be as you could send out and buy him a little clean blanket—a coarse one would do—I could make him a pallet in the corner of the room and cover him over with his own little mantle,” said Meg. “Well thought of, my girl. How much will it take to buy?” required Everage, for his funds were very, very low. “A crown would do it—maybe less.” “Can you do this errand for me, my man?” inquired Everage, turning to Black Bill. “If your honor wills; but it will take seven shillings at the least,” said the ruffian. Everage produced the required amount and handed it ever to the man, who arose and lounged out of the room. “And now I must not forget this,” said Everage, picking up a bundle he had brought in with him, unrolling it, and displaying a full suit of baby’s clothing, including the night gown, all of the cheapest and plainest material, faded and patched, but perfectly clean: for it belonged to his own little two-year-old Clara, and had been privately taken from his wife’s bureau drawer. “He must not remain in his fine clothes lest he should be accidentally seen. Put this night-gown on him to-night, and to-morrow dress him in this suit; and be sure to hide away or destroy the others. Do you understand?” he inquired, as he passed the bundle over to Meg.