nights--wery cold, master. But I must get along a bit farder on. Lodgings
is wery dear."

"I've been thinking," said Oliver, "that you'd find it better to have
some sort of a shake-down under my counter. I've heard say that
newspapers stitched together make a coverlid pretty near as warm as a
blanket; and we could do no harm by trying them, Tony. Look here, and see
how you'd like it."

It looked very much like a long box, and was not much larger. Two or
three beetles crawled sluggishly away as the light fell upon them, and
dusty cobwebs festooned all the corners; but to Tony it seemed so
magnificent an accommodation for sleeping, that he could scarcely
believe he heard old Oliver aright. He looked up into his face with a
sharp, incredulous gaze, ready to wink and thrust his tongue into his
cheek, if there was the least sign of making game of him. But the old
man was simply in earnest, and without a word Tony slipped down upon a
heap of paper shavings strewed within, drew his ragged jacket up about
his ears, and turned his face away, lest his tears should be seen. He
felt, a minute or two after, that a piece of an old rug was laid over
him, but he could say nothing; and old Oliver could not hear the sob
which broke from his lips.




CHAPTER VIII.

NO PIPE FOR OLD OLIVER.