"Is there anything I can do for you ?" "Yes, I should like to look through this place." "Very well, but you may find things pretty badly tumbled up.

We're cleaning house.

Come this way, please." He saw the corner in which he used to sleep, and there was the same iron bedstead, with a fever-fretted child lying upon it.

He thought of the nights when he had cried himself to sleep, and of the mornings when he lay there weaving his fancies while a spider high above the window was spinning his web.

There was the same old smell, and he sniffed the sorrow of his childhood.
"How long has this been here ?" he asked.
"He was brought here about two weeks ago." "I mean the bedstead.