the wicket, and knocked at the door.

It was answered by a young woman, in a plain gown of some dark stuff,
with a white collar round the neck. In spite of her dress I could see
that she was not an ordinary cottage girl. Pretty, without being
beautiful, there was a distinction in her voice and manner which bespoke
the gentlewoman. With a pleasant smile, she welcomed me as one who had
been expected, and ushered me into a small sitting-room, poorly
furnished, but with a taste and refinement unusual in a workman's home.
A large piano stood in one of the corners, and a pile of classical music
lay on a chair beside it. The mantelpiece was decorated with cut
flowers, and the walls were hung with portraits and sketches in crayons
and water-colour.

"My father will be down in a moment," she said, with a slight American
accent. "He is delighted to have the pleasure of meeting you. It is so
kind of you to come."

Before I had time to respond, Mr. Carmichael entered the parlour. He was
a man of striking and venerable presence. His long white locks, his
bulging brow, pregnant with brain, his bushy eyebrows and deep blue-grey
eyes, his aquiline nose and flowing beard, gave an Olympian cast to his
noble head. Withal, I could not help noticing that his countenance was
lined with care, his black coat seamed and threadbare, his hands rough
and horny, like those of a workman. If he appeared a god, it was a god
in exile or disgrace; a Saturn rather than a Jove.

"Now to the matter," said he, after a few words of kindly welcome.
"Evidently the question of inter-planetary travel is coming to the
front. In your article you suggest that a locomotive car, that is to