sheet iron, with a smooth even top, afforded in Fleda's opinion the very
best possible field for muffins to come to their perfection. Now Fleda
cared little in comparison for the eating part of the business; her
delight was by the help of her own skill and the stove-top to bring the
muffins to this state of perfection; her greatest pleasure in them was
over when they were baked.

A little while had passed, Mr. Ringgan was still busy with his newspaper,
Miss Cynthia Gall going in and out on various errands, Fleda shut up in
the distant room with the muffins and the smoke; when there came a knock
at the door, and Mr. Ringgan's "Come in!"--was followed by the entrance of
two strangers, young, well-dressed, and comely. They wore the usual badges
of seekers after game, but their guns were left outside.

The old gentleman's look of grave expectancy told his want of
enlightening.

"I fear you do not remember me, Mr. Ringgan," said the foremost of the two
coming up to him,--"my name is Rossitur--Charlton Rossitur--a cousin of
your little grand-daughter. I have only"--

"O I know you now!" said Mr. Ringgan, rising and grasping his hand
heartily,--"you are very welcome, sir. How do you do? I recollect you
perfectly, but you took me by surprise.--How do you do, sir? Sit
down--sit down."

And the old gentleman had extended his frank welcome to the second of his
visitors almost before the first had time to utter,

"My friend Mr. Carleton."