Early as the hour was, the house seemed already full from attic to cellar. Cecile and Maurice were pushed into a good-sized room about halfway up the first flight of stairs. At the door of this room a woman stood, who demanded pennies of everyone before they were allowed to enter the room. Cecile had some slight difficulty in getting hers out of the bosom of her frock; she did so with anxiety, and some effort at concealment, which was observed by two people: One was a red-faced, wicked-looking girl of about sixteen; the other was a pale woman, who turned her worn faded brown eyes, with a certain look of pathos in them, on the little pair. The moment the people got into the room, there was a scramble for the beds, which were nothing better than wooden boards, with canvas bags laid on them, and a second piece of canvas placed for covering. But bad and comfortless as these beds looked, without either pillow or bolster, they were all eagerly coveted, and all soon full. Two and even three got into each, and those who could not get accommodation in that way were glad to throw themselves on the floor, as near to a great stove, which burned hot and red, as possible. It would have fared very badly with Cecile and Maurice were it not for the woman who noticed them at the door. But as they were looking round bewildered, and Toby was softly licking Cecile's hand, the little girl felt a touch from this woman. "I ha' my own bed laid ready in this corner, and you are both welcome to share it, my little dears." "Oh! they may come with me. I has my corner put by too," said the red-faced girl, who also came up. "Please, ma'am, we'll choose your bed, if Toby may sleep with us," said Cecile, raising her eyes, and instinctively selecting the right company. The woman gave a faint, sad smile, the girl turned scowling away, and the next moment Maurice found himself curled up in the most comfortable corner of the room. He was no longer cold, and hard as his bed was, he was too tired to be particular, and in a moment he and Toby were both sound asleep. But Cecile did not sleep. Weary as she was, the foul air, the fouler language, smote painfully on her ears. The heat, too, soon became almost unbearable, and very soon the poor child found herself wishing for the cold streets in preference to such a night's lodging. There was no chance whatever of Jesus coming to a place like this, and Cecile's last hope of His helping her vanished.