look into his face, and hear his voice, as he could Oliver's. His
heart was heavy, and very sad.

"I s'pose I can't see him, then," he murmured to himself, at last.

"Not exactly like other folks," said Oliver. "I think sometimes that
perhaps there's a little darkness of the grave where he was buried about
him still. But he sees us, and hears us. He himself says, 'Behold, I am
with you always.' I don't know whatever I should do, even with my little
love here, if I wasn't sure Jesus was with me as well."

"I'll tell you what I'll do," said Tony, after another pause. "I'm going
to ask him to give me somethink, and then if he does, I shall know he
hears me--I should very much like to have a broom and a crossing, and get
my living a bit more easy, if you please."

He had turned his face away from Oliver, and looked across into the
darkest corner of the room, where he could see nothing but shadow. The
old man felt puzzled, and somewhat troubled, but he only sighed softly to
himself; and opening the Testament, he read aloud in it till he was
calmed again, and Tony was listening in rapt attention.

"My boy," he said, as the hour came for Tony to go, "where are you
sleeping now?"

"Anywhere as I can get out o' the wind," he answered. "It's cold now,
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