CHAPTER IX.
The church bells were ringing for morning service as Mr.Vickers, who had been for a stroll with Mr.William Russell and a couple of ferrets, returned home to breakfast.

Contrary to custom, the small front room and the kitchen were both empty, and breakfast, with the exception of a cold herring and the bitter remains of a pot of tea, had been cleared away.
[Illustration: "Mr.Vickers had been for a stroll with Mr.William Russell."] "I've known men afore now," murmured Mr.Vickers, eyeing the herring disdainfully, "as would take it by the tail and smack'em acrost the face with it." He cut himself a slice of bread, and, pouring out a cup of cold tea, began his meal, ever and anon stopping to listen, with a puzzled face, to a continuous squeaking overhead.

It sounded like several pairs of new boots all squeaking at once, but Mr.Vickers, who was a reasonable man and past the age of self-deception, sought for a more probable cause.
A particularly aggressive squeak detached itself from the others and sounded on the stairs.

The resemblance to the noise made by new boots was stronger than ever.

It was new boots.