seen anywheres for a penny." Poor Kit never dreamed
that his unguarded remark was to be treasured up against him in the mind
of the jealous, vindictive, little dwarf, and used to separate him from
his idolised mistress and her grandfather, but it was even so, for there
was a power of revenge, a hatred, in the tiny body of the dwarf, entirely
out of proportion to his size.

Quilp at this time desired to injure the old man and his grandchild, and
soon made several discoveries in a secret way, which, added to what he
found out from little Nell's own artless words about her home life, and
her grandfather's habits, enabled him to put two and two together, and
guess correctly for what purpose the old man borrowed such large sums from
him, and he refused him further loans. More than this, he told the old man
that he (Quilp) held a bill of sale on his stock and property, and that he
and little Nell would be henceforth homeless and penniless.

The old man pleaded, with agony in his face and voice for one more
advance,--one more trial,--but Quilp was firm.

"Who is it?" retorted the old man, desperately, "that, notwithstanding all
my caution, told you? Come, let me know the name,--the person."

The crafty dwarf stopped short in his answer, and said,----

"Now, who do you think?"

"It was Kit. It must have been the boy. He played the spy, and you
tampered with him."

"How came you to think of him?" said the dwarf. "Yes, it was Kit. Poor
Kit!" So saying, he nodded in a friendly manner, and took his leave;
stopping when he passed the outer door a little distance, and grinning
with extraordinary delight.

"Poor Kit!" muttered Quilp. "I think it was Kit who said I was an uglier
dwarf than could be seen anywhere for a penny, wasn't it? Ha, ha, ha! Poor
Kit!"

And with that he went his way, still chuckling as he went.

That evening Kit spent in his own home. The room in which he sat down, was
an extremely poor and homely place, but with that air of comfort about it,
nevertheless, which cleanliness and order can always impart in some
degree. Late as the Dutch clock showed it to be, Kit's mother was still
hard at work at an ironing-table; a young child lay sleeping in a cradle
near the fire; and another, a sturdy boy of two or three years old, very
wide awake, was sitting bolt upright in a clothes-basket, staring over the
rim with his great round eyes. It was rather a queer-looking family; Kit,
his mother, and the children, be