own, and after a club debate in which he had taken an energetic part,
even the most exclusive of the Sons of Emmet admitted that Barty's
importation was worthy of the privilege that had been extended to him.

A spell of cold weather had compelled a postponement of Larry's return
to his own home. When snow and frost visit a country unused to their
attentions, they are treated with a respect that they do not receive
elsewhere. The Doctor's orders were strict, and Larry spent the last
days of his stay at No. 6, The Mall, seated in semi-invalid state by
the dining-room fire, occupied, mainly, in the consumption of
literature provided by his new friend, Mr. Barty Mangan, that
consisted of poems, books, and pamphlets of precisely that shade of
politics of which his family most thoroughly disapproved, and
absorbing what would be, in their opinion, the most entirely poisonous
points of view.

The Big Doctor, smoking a comfortable evening pipe over the fire,
would join in the discussions between his son and his visitor,
offering just as much opposition to Larry's revolutionary flights as
was stimulating, and flattering his sense of youth and daring.

"We mustn't send him back to his auntie too much of a rebel
altogether!" The Doctor would say, grinning at the enthusiast with his
pipe wedged under a tooth; "isn't it good enough for you to be a poor
decent old Nationalist like myself? I'm sure there's no one would
disapprove of _me_, is there, Annie?"

"Don't be too sure of that at all!" Mrs. Mangan would reply
coquettishly, trying to look as if she did not agree with him; "wait
till his auntie hears the notions Larry's taking up with, and she'll