appeared like a benevolent fairy--bearing across one arm what
seemed to me a rainbow turned to silk; and in the other hand carrying a
pair of slippers."

"Well; and then?"--

"And then, with a thought, I had put on the morning-gown;--for it was
that you carried--and placed my feet in the slippers. There never were
more beautiful presents; never richer gifts for a wife to make her
husband. For would you think it, LOTTY? No sooner had I wrapped the
dressing-gown about me, than I became settled in the sweetest repose in
my chair: and the very walls of the room seemed to make the softest
music. And then the slippers! Most wonderful! Would you believe it,
LOTTY--wherever the slippers touched, a flower sprang up; flowers and
aromatic herbs! The very hearth seemed glowing and odorous with roses
and thyme. But then, you know, it was only a dream, LOTTY. There's no
such dressing-gown--and in this world no such slippers;" and then--I
could see it--he looked in his odd way at me.

"I suppose not, FRED," said I; for I wouldn't seem to understand him.
"And then, if such slippers could be found, where's the husband's feet
to fit 'em? 'T would be another story of the glass slipper."

"Who knows when we get home? But what's happened?" and he pointed to the
letter.

"Well, then, the pigeon-house has blown down; and Rajah's flown away;
and a strange cat has killed the gold-fish; and, in fact, FRED--as dear
Mamma writes to me; not, as she says, she'd have me worry myself about
the matter--in fact the house wants a mistress."

"I have no doubt your excellent mother is right," said FRED; "and as you
won't go to France, suppose we make way for _The Flitch_. Do you know,
LOTTY, I'm curious to know if--after all--those slippers mayn't be found
there."

"_I'll_ take care of that," said I; "but you know, FRED, we can't go
back yet."

"Why not?"--

"Why, you know our honeymoon isn't quite out; and"--

"And what of that? We needn't burn all the moon from home. What if we
put the last fragment on a save-all, and see it out at _The Flitch_?"

"It isn't to be done, FRED," said I; for I knew how people would talk.
"Of course, 'twould be said we were tired of our own society, and so got
home for company."

"Nevertheless," said FRED; "you take the flight of Rajah, that dear
bird, with wondrous serenity."

And it then struck me that I did _not_ feel so annoyed as I ought. "Ha,
FRED," said I, "you don't know what my feelings may be; don't