from the forge, and laying aside his paper cap and
calico gown, close the green door of his shop, cross the
brick pavement of the back yard, and ascend the
stairs with the spindling bannisters to his dressing
room. Here Malachi would have laid out the black
swallow-tail coat with the high velvet collar, trousers
to match, double-breasted waistcoat with gilt buttons,
and fluffy cravat of white silk.

Then, while his master was dressing, the old servant
would slip down-stairs and begin arranging the
several rooms for the evening's guests--for there were
always guests at night. The red damask curtains
would be drawn close, the hearth swept clean, and
fresh logs thrown on the andirons. The lamp in the
library would be lighted, and his master's great easy-
chair wheeled close to a low table piled high with
papers and magazines, his big-eyed reading-glasses
within reach of his hand. The paper would be unfolded,
aired at the snapping blaze, and hung over
the arm of the chair. These duties attended to, the
old servant, with a last satisfied glance about the
room, would betake himself to the foot of the stair-
case, there to await his master's coming, glancing
overhead at every sound, and ready to conduct him to
his chair by the fire.

When Richard, his toilet completed, appeared at
the top of the stairs, Malachi would stand until his
master had reached the bottom step, wheel about,