bright in the room. Here and there a tinge of red shone out on the
backs of the books that stood close together in the high cases. There
was an old engraving or two, and in one corner a solemn bronze figure
of Dante, thin and angular, as if he had risen from his coffin to take
a last look at this world. Marilla had often spoken of him
disrespectfully, and had suggested many other ornaments which might be
brought to take his place, but the doctor had never acted upon her
suggestions. From the corner of one book-case there hung a huge wasp's
nest, and over the mantel-shelf, which was only wide enough for some
cigar boxes and a little clock and a few vials of medicines, was a
rack where three or four riding whips and a curious silver bit and
some long-stemmed pipes found unmolested quarters; and in one corner
were some walking sticks and a fishing rod or two which had a very
ancient unused look. There was a portrait of Dr. Leslie's grandfather
opposite the fire-place; a good-humored looking old gentleman who had
been the most famous of the Oldfields ministers. The study-table was
wide and long, but it was well covered with a miscellaneous array of
its owner's smaller possessions, and the quick-eyed visitor smiled as
he caught sight of Nan's new copy of Miss Edgeworth's "Parent's
Assistant" lying open and face downward on the top of an instrument
case.

Marilla did not hear the doctor and his guest tramp up to bed until
very late at night, and though she had tried to keep awake she had
been obliged to take a nap first and then wake up again to get the
benefit of such an aggravating occasion. "I'm not going to fret myself
trying to make one of my baked omelets in the morning," she assured
herself, "they'll keep breakfast waiting three quarters of an hour,
and it would fall flat sure's the world, and the doctor's got to ride
to all p'ints of the compass to-morrow, too."