ctancy. Into the drawing-room, mark you! and a real
drawing-room, too; not a visible make-believe, like the library in our
shanty. This is a large room, furnished as people do furnish their best
reception-chamber in civilized lands. Pictures hang on the varnished
walls; books and book-cases stand here and there; tables loaded with
knick-knacks, vases of flowers, workboxes, albums, and so forth; chairs
and sofas and lounges; ornaments, statuettes, brackets, and various
etcetera, betoken a life of greater ease than that of our shanty.

We sit around in an uncouth semicircle, awkward and somewhat ill at
ease, for we feel ourselves a little out of place in that room. One
cannot live the life that we have lived for years past, without feeling
strange and uncomfortable when once again brought within the influence
of refinement. So we look at our boots with a sense that our hobnails
do not match with the white Japanese matting that covers the floor; and
we sit on the edge of our chairs just as other rustics would do at home.
Our hats removed, the results of Old Colonial's tonsorial operations are
made fully apparent. Our hostess surveys us with a puzzled air. I think
she is struggling with a desire to laugh at the quaint simplicity of the
communal wardrobe of our shanty, as it is now displayed on our persons
before her.

We have been petting the children, and, like other children, these are a
trifle too observant. One of them, who is sitting on Old Colonial's
knee, suddenly becomes aware of the state of his poll, and, pulling his
beard to attract attention, asks--

"What made you cut your hair off?"

Old Colonial looks across at the Saint; and then, catching Mrs. Member's
eye, he and she and all of us go off into peals and roars of laughter.
In the midst of this the door opens, we catch sight of another lady
entering, and we stumble confusedly to our feet. It is _she_!

Miss Fairweather comes forward, escorted by the Member, and followed by
a straggling crowd of half a dozen men, similar barbarians to ourselves,
who have got here before us. She is a pretty girl, a very pretty girl,
would be considered so anywhere. Here, in her dainty elegance of
costume, to our rude senses she appears almost too beautiful. She
dazzles us altogether; we know no longer whether we are standing on our
heads or our heels.

We are being severally introduced with all due ceremony. The little
beauty is not by any means disconcerted at the ordeal