ately.

"Never fear that," he answered. "Mr. Erle is a man who is not kept at
home by the weather, or anything else."

I came to the hearth. The last words had been added in the dry tone
which always meant something, coming from his lips.

"Has Mr. Erle children?" I asked.

"Yes; the youngest boy is only sixteen."

"And he never spends an evening at home?"

"I've not known him to do so for twenty years. Sing the 'Health to King
Charles,' dear."

I sat down at the piano, and sang as I was bid.

We were stanch loyalists from tradition, and my list of Stuart songs was
so long that I had sung scarcely half of it when the clock struck nine,
and rapid wheels came over the pavements. Opposite our door the horse
slipped, and we heard the instantaneous lash singing in the night air
and descending unmercifully on the poor animal. An immense stamping and
rearing ensued. "That is Erle, sure enough," my grandfather said, going
to the window. I followed him, and lifted the shade in time to see Mr.
Erle standing in the trampled snow at the horse's head, patting him as
gently as a woman could have done. In a moment he nodded to his servant,
and watched him drive round the corner before turning to our door.

He came in quickly, exquisitely dressed, and courteous, with the
beautiful old manner they cannot teach us now. After the first words, my
grandfather said, with a superb affectation of seriousness, "The
merciful man is merciful to his beast."

Mr. Erle looked up, with a bright laugh. "So you heard our little
dispute? The old fellow bears me no malice, you may be sure; he knows
that I never sulk."

"Perhaps he would like it a little better if you did," I said.

"Not at all. He respects me for my quick ways with him."

I shook my head doubtingly, and then, as if in defence of his theory, he
said: "Did I ever tell you of Lillie Burton? Her animals did not mind a
little discipline."

My grandfather laughed. "Oddly enough, we had laid a plot to make you
tell that charming history this very evening," he said.

"Don't laugh about it," Mr. Erle answered. "I cannot tell you how
vividly the sight of Miss Thesta's picture brought back the old time to
me."

"I beg your pardon," the other said, bowing.

At that moment a servant came in with wine, placing the Japanese waiter
with the old gilded bottle and glasses at my grandfather's elbow on the
table. He poured out three glasses, and said, very simply: "We will have
our own