“Turn into it and drive on until you reach Bushe Lane. It is on the left hand,” answered Everage. The cabman turned his horses’ heads and drove down the street for some distance and then pulled up again. “Bushe’s Lane, sir.” “Turn into it and go on until you reach Blood Alley. It is also on the left side,” said Everage. The cabman turned into the dark, unwholesome lane and drove on for a short distance and then reined up his horses again. “Blood Alley, sir,” he said. “We must get out here, the alley is too narrow to admit the passage of the carriage,” said Everage opening the door. And both men stepped down at the entrance of the foul alley, dark, loathsome and offensive to every material sense and moral sentiment. “Wait here until we return,” said Everage to the cabman. The man touched his hat in assent as he thought to himself: “Them two coves be two detectives on the scent of thieves.” Everage led the way and Alexander followed him, picking his steps as well as he could through the fermenting filth of the alley, and shuddering to think his child was exposed to such deadly air. About midway down the alley Everage paused before a tall, tottering tenement house, occupied by the lowest caste of thieves and beggars. “Here is the place,” he said, opening the door and entering the passage-way without either obstruction or even observation; for at this hour the tenants were out upon their tramps. Everage led the way up several flights of quaking stairs to the attic floor, which certainly, from its height, had the advantage of a purer air. Everage opened a door immediately in front of the landing and signed Alexander to enter. Alick passed the threshold and found himself in a room with a sloping roof and a skylight. The room was clearer than when he saw it last, for Meg had been supplied with soap, and had kept it so for little Lenny’s sake; but it was almost as bare of furniture as before. There were but two persons present—a wild-looking, dark-haired, bare-footed girl walking the floor: and a child in her arms—a pale, wan baby-boy, with his fair-haired head dropped heavily upon her shoulder, his violet eyes closed, and his long fringed eyelids lying down upon his dead white cheeks. His little clothes were old and faded and patched, but as clean as hands could make them. As the two men entered the room the girl looked up, pointed to the sleeping child and signed them to be quiet. It was too late. Poor little Lenny had become a nervous and irritable sleeper. The slightest noise would awaken him. And now the sound of approaching footsteps startled him from his sleep, and he awoke with a shiver. His first words were: “Doosa tome, Met?” Then looking up and seeing only two men, he dropped his head upon Meg’s shoulder and wailed forth his disappointment: “Doosa not tome! Doosa not tome! Lenny want see Doosa! Lenny want to see Doosa so bad!”