country.

It is not necessary to state where the castle of the Burnetts was erected,
but it was in a beautiful region, and the monthly magazines had written it
up and called it an architectural triumph. The owner fully agreed with the
monthly magazines, and his pride found vent in a house-warming which
filled every guest chamber in the place.

The festivities were in full swing before the youngest son and his friend
arrived; and when the dog-cart, which brought them from the station, drew
up under the mighty porte-cochère with its four stone lions, rampant in
four different directions, Jack felt one of those delicious thrills which
run through one under particularly hopeful and buoyant circumstances.

"It’s like walking in a novel," his friend said; as they entered under
some heavy draperies which the footman pushed aside and found a tiny
spiral staircase, which wound its way aloft in a style that Jack liked
immensely and the latter agreed with all his heart.

The staircase led them to the third floor and when they emerged therefrom
they found themselves in a big semi-circular billiard room, with a
fireplace at each end large enough to put one of the tables in, and cues
and counters and stools and divans and smoking utensils sufficient for a
regiment.

"I tell you, this is the way to do things," exclaimed Burnett; "isn’t it
jolly? Time of your life, old man, time of your life!—And, oh, by the
way," he said, suddenly interrupting himself, "I wonder if my sister’s got
here yet!"