"But he ought to have a fire, and something hot and nourishing to

drink!" exclaimed Mrs. Button, upon hearing the story. "He will

freeze in that barn of a place--poor wretch!"

"I imagine he has no need of additional stimulants," said Mrs.

Aylett, dryly, again resorting to her smelling-bottle. "From what

the gentlemen say, I judge that he had laid in a supply of caloric

sufficient to last through the night. And the first use he would

make of fire would be to burn the house over our heads. His lodgings

are certainly more comfortable than those selected by himself. There

is little danger of his finding fault with them. What manner of

looking creature is he?"

"An unkempt vagabond!" rejoined Randolph Harrison, rubbing his blue

fingers before the fire. "His clothes are ragged, and frozen stiff.

I suppose he has been out in the storm ever since it set in. There

were icicles upon his beard and hair, his hat having fallen off. It

is a miracle he did not freeze to death long ago. It is a bitter

night."

"Did you say he was an old man?" inquired the hostess languidly,

from the depths of her easy chair.

"He is not a young one, for his hair is grizzled. But we will form

ourselves into a court of inquiry in the morning, with Mr. Aylett as

presiding officer--have in the nocturnal wanderer, and hear what

account he can give of himself. Who knows what romantic history we

may hear--one that may become a Christmas legend in after years?"

"You will get nothing more sensational than the confessions of a

hen-roost robber, I suspect," said Mrs. Aylett, more wearily than

was consistent with her role of attentive hostess.

Her husband noticed the tokens of exhaustion, and interposed to

spare her further exertion.

"Our friends will excuse you if you retire without delay, Clara. You

still feel the effects of your agitation and faintness."

This was the signal for a general dispersion of the ladies--the

gentlemen, or most of them, adjourning to the smoking-room.

Since the late extraordinary influx of visitors, Mabel had shared

her aunt's chamber, but, instead of seeking this now, she went

straight from the parlor to the supper-room, where she found, as she

had expected, Mrs. Sutton in the height of business, directing the

setting of the breakfast-table, clearing away the debris of the

evening feast, and counting the silver with unusual care, lest a

stray fork or spoon had, by some hocus-pocus known to the class,

been slipped into the pocket of the supposititious burglar.




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