of grass, trees and flowers. At every corner glass cupboards
showed a stock of rare old china; a long sideboard was
brilliant and splendid with old silver. Dark cabinet ware
furnished but not encumbered the room; in the centre a table
looked all of hospitality and welcome that a table can. There
was a great store of old fashioned elegance and comfort in
Wych Hazel's home; no doubt of it; of old-fashioned state too,
and old-time respectability; to which numberless old-time
witnesses stood testifying on every hand, from the teapot, the
fashion of which was a hundred years ancient, to the uncouth
brass andirons in the fireplace. Mr. Falkirk came in as one to
whom it was all very wonted and well known. The candles were
not lit; a soft, ruddy light from the west reddened the great
mirror over the fireplace and gave back the silver sideboard
in it. Not till the clear notes of a bugle, the Chickaree tea-
bell, had wound about the old house awakening sweet echoes,
did Wych Hazel make her appearance.

'Supper mos' as good hot as de weather,' remarked Dingee. 'Mas
Rollo, he say he break his heart dat his profess'nal duties
tears him 'way.'

'Dingee, go down stairs,' said Miss Hazel turning upon him,--
'and when you tell stories about Mr. Rollo tell them to
himself, and not to me. Will you come to tea, sir?'


CHAPTER XI.

VIXEN.