s. It was all under
snow now, but white mounds marked the positions of the box-bushes, and
neat stakes and straw jackets showed where the roses would bloom.

The terrace garden would be a great show in June. And the Poor Boy had
no difficulty in closing his eyes for a moment and so seeing it.

The Poor Boy, privileged old friend that he was, entered without
ringing, and started through the ground floor of the house, stopping at
times to admire a mantel-piece, a ceiling, or a painting. Lord Harrow's
new hothouses being in full blast, there were flowers everywhere, and
great logs of birch roared and crackled in all the fireplaces. The Poor
Boy peeped into the dining-room and drew back, his eyes almost drunk
with mahogany, and gold and Spanish leather. Under a table in the hall
stood a great silver punch-bowl in which water was kept for Don, the
spaniel, to drink. There were stags' heads on the walls, and on each
side of the stairway stood a splendid suit of Gothic armor. One suit was
inlaid with enamel, black as ebony, and the other with red gold.

The Poor Boy lifted his voice and called up the columned wall of the
stair:

"Anybody home!"

Lord Harrow's daughter leaned over the rail. She had a very white face
and very wonderful red hair. Her way of speaking always reminded the
Poor Boy of pearls falling from a string one by one.

"Joy Grey's just come," she said. "She's changing into outdoor things.
Do you mind waiting?"

"How is she?" asked the Poor Boy eagerly.

"Oh, she's white and tired after all she's been through, poor duck;
don't let her overdo at first. Where are you going to take her?"

"Aren't you coming with us?"

Three pearls fell.

"How--you--talk!"

"But--but--"

"Nonsense," exclaimed Lord Harrow's daughter. "You're head over ears in
love with her, and she with you."

"What!" exclaimed the Poor Boy. "Do you mean that!"

"Mean it? Of course I do. And everybody knows it--except you two. I was
in the village yesterday, and the people had heard that she was
coming--to you--_to you_--and they were hanging wreaths in the windows
as if for Christmas. When we drove through the village on our way here
they lined the main street and cheered her."

"What did she do?"

"She was delighted. She thought they were cheering my father and me, and
she said she was so glad that she had been asked to visit such wonderful
distinguished people. The little duck!"

"The little _goat_," cried the Poor Boy. "T