She had to ring the bell a good many times before the door opened, for the broker and his small household had retired for the night: it was now eleven o'clock. He was not well pleased at being taken from his warm bed to go out and work--on such a night too! He grounded what objection he made, however, on its being Sunday, and more than hinted his surprise that Hester would ask him to do such a thing. She told him it was for some who had nowhere to lay their heads, and in her turn more than hinted that he could hardly know what Sunday meant if he did not think it right to do any number of good deeds on it. The man assented to her argument, and went to look out the two beds she wanted. But what in reality influenced him was dislike to offending a customer; customers are the divinities of tradesmen, as society is the divinity of society: in her, men and women worship themselves. Having got the two bedsteads extracted piecemeal from the disorganized heaps in his back shop, he and Hester together proceeded to carry them home--and I cannot help wishing lord Gartley had come upon her at the work--no very light job, for she went three times, and bore good weights. It was long after midnight before the beds were ready--and a meal of coffee, and toast, and bread and butter, spread in the great room. Then at last Hester went back to the cellar. "Now, come," she said, and taking up the baby, which had just weight enough to lie and let her know how light it was, led the way. Franks rose from the edge of the packing-case, on which lay the body of Moxy, with his mother yet kneeling beside it, and put his arm round his wife to raise her. She yielded, and he led her away after their hostess, the boys following hand in hand. But when they reached the cellar door, the mother gave a heart-broken cry, and turning ran and threw herself again beside her child. They all followed her. "I can't! I can't!" she said. "I can't leave my Moxy lyin' here all alone! He ain't used to it. He's never once slep' alone since he was born. I can't bear to think o' that lovely look o' his lost on the dark night--not a soul to look down an' see it! Oh, Moxy! was your mother a-leavin' of you all alone!" "What makes you think there will not be a soul to see it?" said Hester. "The darkness may be full of eyes! And the night itself is only the black pupil of the Father's eye.--But we're not going to leave the darling here. We'll take him too, of course, and find him a good place to lie in." The mother was satisfied, and the little procession passed through the dark way, and up the stair.