had to ask the way. At last he arrived outside a white-painted wooden
house standing back in a garden. Here was the place--the place where his
fate was to be decided. After the country fashion he walked in at the
kitchen door.

A stout servant maid in a big white apron was rattling the rings of the
kitchen range into place; there was a pleasing smell of coffee and good
things to eat. Suddenly a door opened, and a figure in a dressing-gown
appeared--a tall red-haired man with gold spectacles astride on a long
red nose, his thick hair and scrubby little moustaches touched
with grey. He gasped once or twice and then started
sneezing--hoc-hoc-put-putsch!--wiped his nose with a large
pocket-handkerchief, and grumbled out: "Ugh!--this wretched cold--can't
get rid of it. How about my socks, Bertha, my good girl; do you think
they are quite dry now?"

"I've had them hung up ever since I lit the fire this morning," said the
girl, tossing her head.

"But who is this young gentleman, may I ask?" The gold spectacles were
turned full on Peer, who rose and bowed.

"Said he wanted to speak to you, sir," put in the maid.

"Ah. From the country, I see. Have you anything to sell, my lad?"

"No," said Peer. He had had a letter. . . .

The red head seemed positively frightened at this--and the dressing-gown
faltered backwards, as if to find support. He cast a hurried glance at