rees that were bound upon the lattice
on each side of the door had not thriven. There was something melancholy
about the unsuccessful attempt to cultivate the delicate southern fruit
in the unkindly air of England, and the branches and stems, all wrapped
in straw against the frost, looked unhappy and unnatural in the cold
moonlight. I stood looking at them, with my hands in my pockets,
thinking somewhat regretfully of my southern birthplace. I smiled at
myself and turned away, but as I went the very faintest echo of a laugh
seemed to come from the other side of the wall. It sounded disagreeably
in the stillness, and I slowly finished my walk around the house and
came back to the front door, still wondering who it was that had laughed
at me from behind the wall in the moonlight. There was certainly no
original reason in the nature of things why it should not chance that
some one should laugh on the other side of the wall just as I happened
to be standing before the closed gate. The inclosure was probably in
connection with the servants' apartments; or it might be the exclusive
privilege of Chrysophrasia to walk there, composing anapaestic verse to
the infinite faintness of the moon,--or anything. A quarter of an hour
later I was in the drawing-room drinking a cup of tea. I came in when
the others had finished reading their evening letters, and there were
none for me. The tea was cold. I wished I had walked half an hour
longer, and had not come into the drawing-room at all.

"Let me make you a fresh cup, Mr. Griggs," said Hermione; "do,--it will
be ready in a moment!"

I politely declined, and the conversation of the rest soon began where
it had left off. It appeared that Professor Cutter was expected that
night, and the son of the house, with Patoff, on the following day. It
was Thursday, and Christmas was that day week. John Carvel seemed
unusually depressed; his words were few and very grave, and he did not
smile, but answered in the shortest manner possible the questions
addressed to him. He thought Cutter might arrive at any moment. Hermione
hazarded a remark to the effect that the professor was rather dull.

"No, my dear," answered John, "he is not at all dull."

"But, papa, I thought he was so immensely learned"----

"He is very learned," said her father, shortly, and buried himself in
his newspaper, so that hardly anything was visible of him but his feet,
encased in exceedingly neat shoes; those nether extremi