visitor, that he remained fixed without uttering a word, until the old
gentleman, having performed another and a more energetic concerto on the
knocker, turned round to look after his fly-away cloak. In so doing he
caught sight of Gluck's little yellow head jammed in the window, with
its mouth and eyes very wide open indeed.

"Hollo!" said the little gentleman, "that's not the way to answer the
door; I'm wet, let me in."

To do the little gentleman justice, he _was_ wet. His feather hung down
between his legs like a beaten puppy's tail, dripping like an umbrella;
and from the ends of his mustaches the water was running into his
waistcoat-pockets, and out again like a mill-stream.

"I beg pardon, sir," said Gluck, "I'm very sorry, but I really can't."

"Can't what?" said the old gentleman.

"I can't let you in, sir,--I can't, indeed; my brothers would beat me to
death, sir, if I thought of such a thing. What do you want, sir?"

"Want?" said the old gentleman, petulantly, "I want fire and shelter;
and there's your great fire there blazing, crackling, and dancing on the
walls, with nobody to feel it. Let me in, I say; I only want to warm
myself."

Gluck had had his head, by this time, so long out of the window, that he
began to feel it was really unpleasantly cold, and when he turned, and
saw the beautiful fire rustling and roaring, and throwing long bright
tongues up the chimney, as if it were licking its chops at the savory