some time, and had not been many days in
London, when John Carvel wrote to ask me if I would spend the winter
with him. I was tired and wanted to be quiet, so I accepted his offer.
Carvel Place is peaceful, and I like the woods about it, and the old
towers, and the great library in the house itself, and the general sense
of satisfaction at being among congenial people who are friendly. I knew
I should have to encounter Miss Chrysophrasia, but I reflected that
there was room for both of us, and that if it were not easy to agree
with her it was not easy to quarrel with her, either. I packed my traps,
and went down to the country one afternoon in November.

John Carvel had grown a trifle older; I thought he was a little less
cheerful than he had been in former days, but I was welcomed as warmly
as ever. The great fire burned brightly in the old hall, lighting up the
dark wainscoting and the heavy furniture with a glow that turned the old
oak from brown to red. The dim portraits looked down as of old from the
panels, and Fang, the white deerhound, shook his shaggy coat and
stretched his vast jaws as I came in. It was cold outside, and the rain
was falling fast, as the early darkness gathered gloomily over the
landscape, so that I was glad to stand by the blazing logs after the
disagreeable drive. John Carvel was alone in the hall. He stretched out
his broad hand and grasped mine, and it did my heart good to see the
smile of honest gladness on his clean, manly face.

"I hardly thought you would come," he said, looking into my eyes. "I was
never so glad to see you in my life. You have been wandering
again,--half over the world. How are you? You look tougher than ever,
and here am I growing palpably old. How in the world do you manage it?"

"A hard heart, a melancholy temperament, and a large appetite," I
answered, with a laugh. "Besides, you have four or five years the better
of me."

"The worse, you mean. I'm as gray as a badger."

"Nonsense. It is your climate that makes people gray. How is Mrs.
Carvel, and Hermione,--she must have grown up since I saw her,--and Miss
Dabstreak?"

"She is after her pots and pans as usual," said John. "Mary and Hermy
are all right, thank you. We will have tea with them presently."

He turned and poked the fire with a huge pair of old-fashioned tongs. I
thought his cheerful manner subsided a little as he took me to my room.
He lingered a moment, till the man who brought in my boxes had