eard of such a thing. There, go!"

Tony slunk away sadly, with a sudden down-heartedness. He returned so
joyous and triumphant, in spite of his weariness, that this unexpected
and unpleasant greeting had been a very severe shock to him. With his
broom over his shoulder, and with his listless, slouching steps, he
sauntered slowly back to his crossing; but he had no heart for it now.

CHAPTER XI.

AMONG THIEVES.

The night fell early, for a thick fog came on in the afternoon. Tony
cowered down upon his broom under the wall where Dolly had sat in the
sunshine all the morning to watch him sweep his crossing. It was all over
now. She was lost to him; for he should never dare to go back to old
Oliver's house, and face that terrible old woman again. There was nothing
for him but to return to his old life and his old haunts; and a chill ran
through him, body and spirit, as he thought of it. His heap of paper
shavings under the counter, where the biting winds could not reach him,
came to his mind, and the tears rushed to his eyes. But to-night, at
least, there would be no need to sleep out of doors, for he had some
money in the safest corner of his ragged pocket, tied up in it securely
with a bit of string. He could afford to pay for a night's lodging, and
he knew very well where he could get one.

About nine o'clock Tony turned his weary feet towards a slum he knew
of in Westminster, where there was a cellar open to everybody who could
pay two-pence for a night's shelter. His heart was very full and heavy
with resentment against his enemy, and a great longing to see Dolly. He
loitered about the door of the cellar, reluctant and almost afraid to
venture in; for it was so long since he had been driven to any of these
places that he felt nearly like a stranger among them. Besides, in former
times he had been kicked, and beaten, and driven from the fire, and
fought with by the bigger boys; and he had become unaccustomed to such
treatment of late. How different this lodging-house was to the quiet
peaceful home where Dolly knelt down every evening at her grandfather's
knee, and prayed for him; for now she always put Tony's name into her
childish prayers! He should never, never hear her again, nor see old
Oliver seated in his arm-chair, smoking his long pipe, while he talked
with that strange friend and master of his. Ah! he would never hear or
know any more of that unseen Christ, who was so willing to be his master
and f