"But he ought to have a fire, and something hot and nourishing to
drink!" exclaimed Mrs. Button, upon hearing the story. "He will
freeze in that barn of a place--poor wretch!"
"I imagine he has no need of additional stimulants," said Mrs.
Aylett, dryly, again resorting to her smelling-bottle. "From what
the gentlemen say, I judge that he had laid in a supply of caloric
sufficient to last through the night. And the first use he would
make of fire would be to burn the house over our heads. His lodgings
are certainly more comfortable than those selected by himself. There
is little danger of his finding fault with them. What manner of
looking creature is he?"
"An unkempt vagabond!" rejoined Randolph Harrison, rubbing his blue
fingers before the fire. "His clothes are ragged, and frozen stiff.
I suppose he has been out in the storm ever since it set in. There
were icicles upon his beard and hair, his hat having fallen off. It
is a miracle he did not freeze to death long ago. It is a bitter
night."
"Did you say he was an old man?" inquired the hostess languidly,
from the depths of her easy chair.
"He is not a young one, for his hair is grizzled. But we will form
ourselves into a court of inquiry in the morning, with Mr. Aylett as
presiding officer--have in the nocturnal wanderer, and hear what
account he can give of himself. Who knows what romantic history we
may hear--one that may become a Christmas legend in after years?"
"You will get nothing more sensational than the confessions of a
hen-roost robber, I suspect," said Mrs. Aylett, more wearily than
was consistent with her role of attentive hostess.
Her husband noticed the tokens of exhaustion, and interposed to
spare her further exertion.
"Our friends will excuse you if you retire without delay, Clara. You
still feel the effects of your agitation and faintness."
This was the signal for a general dispersion of the ladies--the
gentlemen, or most of them, adjourning to the smoking-room.
Since the late extraordinary influx of visitors, Mabel had shared
her aunt's chamber, but, instead of seeking this now, she went
straight from the parlor to the supper-room, where she found, as she
had expected, Mrs. Sutton in the height of business, directing the
setting of the breakfast-table, clearing away the debris of the
evening feast, and counting the silver with unusual care, lest a
stray fork or spoon had, by some hocus-pocus known to the class,
been slipped into the pocket of the supposititious burglar.