never anything in his letters, except warnings to put the
servants at board-wages before I went away, and look to expenditures, and
not ask him for any more money soon. I didn't mind much. I was rather
ashamed of the spelling,--that was all. Poor dear Guy never could spell,
and I never read anything so dull as his letters,--the same thing over and
over again, till it hardly seemed worth while to open them, only for
knowing what he was up to, or when he was coming. How my poor sisters did
laugh one Christmas when I got a letter from him in Italy, saying, 'The
cole here is intense; but I have got a projick in my head, which is to get
back to England as fast as rale and steme can possibly carry me'! It
wasn't often that bad; but there was always something wrong. I can't think
how it is, for he had no end of tutors and masters, except that he
certainly was a very thick-headed fellow." She laughed merrily over the
epistolary deficiencies of her late lord as she spoke, and every one
joined her except Mrs. Ketchum, who was too shocked to countenance her.

"I saw Parsons in the very act of opening your letters this morning as I
was roaming around in my Jesuit creepers, and thought you would be
horrified; but it seems to be all right," said Mr. Ketchum, glancing down
at his slippers. "Suppose, now, we have some breakfast: it is late. We
haven't nearly as much time as the patriarchs, anyway, and so much more
use for it."

"I have been thinking it would never be ready," said Mrs. Sykes.

"And I am quite ready for it. Isn't that a nice new-laid egg for me?"
asked Miss Noel, taking her place with the others.

"Mabel, eggs for Miss Noel every morning, if she likes them, and don't you
forget it," said Mr. Ketchum. "'Trouble'? Not the least that ever was. I
have them for myself always. An egg for me must be like Caesar's wife,
--above suspicion. I have provided myself with a conscientious High-Church
hen that lays one every day of the year; though how she can think it worth
her while, when they are selling for ten cents a dozen, I can't
imagine.--What's the matter, Heathcote?"

The matter was the "Jesuit creepers" and the hen combined, which had sent
all the party into a little fit of laughter, from which Mr. Heathcote
could not recover.

"I don't see anything to double you up like a jack-knife," said Mr.
Ketchum, in allusion to his guest's way of stooping over and having the
laughs, as it were, shaken out of him by a superior for