e
less satisfactory to himself, that, not being poet merely, but
philosopher as well, he sought to understand them: the mere poet,
the man-bird, would have been content with them in themselves. But
if he who is both does not rise above both by learning obedience, he
will have a fine time of it between them.

The streets of the city at length received them with noise and echo.
At the coach-office Mr. Sclater stood waiting, welcomed him with
dignity rather than kindness, hired a porter with his truck whom he
told where to take the chest, said Sir Gilbert would doubtless call
on him the next day, and left him with the porter.

It was a cold afternoon, the air half mist, half twilight. Donal
followed the rattling, bumping truck over the stones, walking close
behind it, almost in the gutter. They made one turning, went a long
way through the narrow, sometimes crowded, Widdiehill, and stopped.
The man opened a door, returned to the truck, and began to pull the
box from it. Donal gave him effective assistance, and they entered
with it between them. There was just light enough from a tallow
candle with a wick like a red-hot mushroom, to see that they were in
what appeared to Donal a house in most appalling disorder, but was
in fact a furniture shop. The porter led the way up a dark stair,
and Donal followed with his end of the trunk. At the top was a
large room, into which the last of the day glimmered through windows
covered with the smoke and dust of years, showing this also full of
furniture, chiefly old. A lane through the furniture led along the
room to a door at the other end. To Donal's eyes it looked a dreary
place; but when the porter opened the other door, he saw a neat
little room with a curtained bed, a carpeted floor, a fire burning
in the grate, a kettle on the hob, and the table laid for tea: this
was like a bit of a palace, for he had never in his life even looked
into such a chamber. The porter set down his end of the chest, said
"Guid nicht to ye," and walked out, leaving the door open.

Knowing nothing about towns and the ways of them, Donal was yet a
little surprised that there was nobody to receive him. He
approached the fire, and sat down to warm himself, taking care not
to set his hobnailed shoes on the grandeur of the little hearthrug.
A few moments and he was startled by a slight noise, as of
suppressed laughter. He jumped up. One of the curtains of his bed
was strangely agitated. Ou