ne o'clock that night accompanied by a
boy with his baggage.

His gloom disappeared the moment the door opened. The air inside was
warm and comfortable, and pervaded by an appetizing smell of cooked
meats. Upstairs a small bright fire and a neatly laid supper-table
awaited his arrival.

He sank into an easy-chair and rubbed his hands. Then his gaze fell on a
small bell on the table, and opening the door he rang for supper.

"Yes, sir," said Mrs. Hatchard, entering the room. "Supper, please,"
said the new lodger, with dignity.

Mrs. Hatchard looked bewildered. "Well, there it is," she said,
indicating the table. "You don't want me to feed you, do you?"

The lodger eyed the small, dry piece of cheese, the bread and butter, and
his face fell. "I--I thought I smelled something cooking," he said at
last.

[Illustration: "'I--I thought I smelled something cooking,' he said."]

"Oh, that was my supper," said Mrs. Hatchard, with a smile.

"I--I'm very hungry," said Mr. Hatchard, trying to keep his temper.

"It's the cold weather, I expect," said Mrs. Hatchard, thoughtfully;
"it does affect some people that way, I know. Please ring if you want
anything."

She left the room, humming blithely, and Mr. Hatchard, after sitting for
some time in silent consternation, got up and ate his frugal meal. The
fact that the water-jug held three pints and was filled to the brim gave
him no satisfaction.

He was still hungry when he arose next morning, and, with curiosity
tempered by uneasiness, waited for his breakfast. Mrs. Hatchard came in
at last, and after polite inquiries as to how he had slept proceeded to
lay breakfast. A fresh loaf and a large teapot appeared, and the smell
of frizzling bacon ascended from below. Then Mrs. Hatchard came in
again, and, smiling benevolently, placed an egg before him and withdrew.
Two minutes later he rang the bell.

"You can clear away," he said, as Mrs. Hatchard entered the room.

"What, no breakfast?" she said, holding up her hands. "Well, I've heard
of you single young men, but I never thought----"

"The tea's cold and as black as ink," growled the indignant lodger, "and
the egg isn't eatable."

"I'm afraid you're a bit of a fault-finder," said Mrs. Hatchard, shaking
her head at him. "I'm sure I try my best to please. I don't mind what I
do, but if you're not satisfied you'd better go."

"Look here, Emily--" began her husband.

"Don't you 'Emily' me!" said Mrs. Ha