anxious to put an end to a conversation which had become suddenly too
intimate. On the threshold she looked back, and remarked in a precise,
authoritative voice:

"There are blankets in the bottom drawer if you find you haven't
covering enough."

"I shall remember--there are blankets in the bottom drawer."

"Patsey will bring hot water at eight and Uncle Abednego will give you
breakfast in the dining-room."

"Then I'm not to have it with you?"

"With me? Oh, I live with grandfather. I never come to the big house
except when Mrs. Gay is in town."

"Do you see nothing, then, of my mother when she is at home?"

"Sometimes I help her to make raspberry vinegar or preserves. If you
hear a noise in the night it is only the acorns dropping on the roof.
There are so many oaks. Good night, Mr. Jonathan."

"Good night," he returned, "I wish you'd shake hands,"--but she had
vanished.

The room was cosy and warm now--and flinging himself into a chair with
deep arms that stood on the hearth, he lit his cigar and sipped drowsily
the glass of brandy she had left on a silver tray on the table.
The ceiling was ridiculously high--what a waste of good bricks and