described him to her cousins, the Crumps, "an unexpected kind o' person,
Mr. G. was. Just when you made up your mind he was very stiff and
dignified, his face would light up into such a beautiful glow! And
then, when you thought how nice, and hearty, and sociable he was, he
would look so grave out of his eyes, and get so straight in the back
that he seemed like a king in an ermine robe."

When Liddy had compared a man to "a king in an ermine robe," she had
expressed her utmost pitch of admiration. She had heard this expression
long ago in a camp-meeting discourse, and it seemed to her almost too
grand a phrase for human use, unless one were speaking of Mr. George.

And a king Mr. George was, in some ways; a king who ruled himself, and
whose subjects--Mr. George's traits of character--were loyal to their
sovereign. Yet on one point he did deserve to be otherwise compared. All
difficulties that were under his power to control he would bravely meet;
but when anything troubled him which he could not remedy,--in fact, on
occasions when he was perplexed, worried, or unable to decide promptly
upon a course of action,--he often was a changed being. Quick as a flash
the beautiful, genial glow would vanish, the kingly ermine would drop
off, and he could be likened only to one of the little silver owls that
we see upon dinner-tables, quite grand and proper in bearing, but very
peppery within, and liable to scatter the pepper freely when suddenly
upset.

Poor Dorry! It had been her sad experience to call forth this
catastrophe very often of late, and in the most unexpected ways.
Sometimes a mere gesture, even the tone of her voice, seemed to annoy
her uncle. On one occasion, while he was pleasantly explaining some
public matter to Donald and herself, she laid her hand gently upon the
back of his, by way of expressing her interest in the conversation, and
his excited "Why did you do that?" made the poor girl jump from him in
terror.

Lydia, who was softly brushing the fireplace at that moment, saw it all,
and saw, too, how quickly he recovered himself and spoke kindly to the
child. But she muttered under her breath, as she went slowly down to the
basement,--

"Poor Mr. G's gettin' worse of late, he is. I don't see as he ever will
feel settled now. It's amazin' puzzlin', it is."

Yes, it was puzzling. And nobody better understood and pitied the kingly
soul's perplexity than the good woman. Even Jack, the coachman, though
he k