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Lippincott's Magazine Of Popular Literature And Science, Old Series, Vol. 36 New Series, Vol. 10, July 1885 by Various

V >> Various >> Lippincott\'s Magazine Of Popular Literature And Science, Old Series, Vol. 36 New Series, Vol. 10, July 1885



LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE
OF
POPULAR LITERATURE AND SCIENCE.

OLD SERIES, VOL. XXXVI.--NEW SERIES, VOL. X.

PHILADELPHIA: J.B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
1885.


Entered according to Act of Congress,
in the year 1885, by J.B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY,
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

LIPPINCOTT'S PRESS, _Philadelphia_.

* * * * *

CONTENTS.

[Note: The sign * denotes the letters or pages which are missing on the
original manuscript.]

Art of Reading, The, _Grace R. Peirce_
Aurora, _Mary Agnes Tincker_
Backwoods Romance, A, _Susan Hartley Swett_
Birds of a Texan Winter, _Edward G. Bruce_
Brown, Anthony Calvert, _P. Deming_
Chapter of Mystery, A, _Charles Morris_
Cookham Dean, _Margaret Bertha Wright_
Dieu Dispose, _Nathan Clifford Brown_
Drama in the Nursery, The, _Norman Pearson_
Eye of a Needle, The, _Sophie Swett_
Ferryman's Fee, The, _Margaret Vandegrift_
Fishing in Elk River, _Tobe Hodge_
Forest Beauty, A, _Maurice Thompson_
Friend George Randall, My, _Frank Parke_
Grant, General, at Frankfort, _Alfred E. Lee_
Hoosier Idyl, A, _Louise Coffin Jones_
In a Suppressed Tuscan Monastery, _Kate Johnston Matson_
Lady Lawyer's First Client, The, _Thomas Wharton_ ,
Letters and Reminiscences of Charles Reade ,_Kinahan Cornwallis_
"Mees", _Charles Dunning_
Mickley, Joseph J., _J. Bunting_
Muster-Day in New England, _Frederick G. Mather_
New York Libraries, _Charles Burr Todd_
Next Vacation, The, _Alice Wellington Rollins_
North-River Ferry, A, _F.N. Zabriskie_
Nos Pensions
On this Side, _F.C. Baylor_
Parisian *, The, _Theodore Child_
P* of Archaeology, The, _Ernest Ingersoll_ *
* the Short-Story, The, _Brander Matthews_ *
* Southwest, The; _Edmund Kirke_ *
*t, A, _Margaret Vandegrift_ *
*ple, The, _M.H. Catherwood_ *
* or Free Classic Architecture, _George C. Mason, Jr._ *
*t, A, _C.W. Wilmerding_ *
*ning, _W.W. Crane_ *
* Yesterday and To-Day, _Alice King Hamilton_ *
Roughing it in Palestine, _Charles Wood_
Salt-Mine, In a, _Margery Deane_
Scenes of Charlotte Bronte's Life in Brussels, _Theo. Wolfe, M.D._
Scottish Crofters, The, _David Bennett King_
Second Rank, The, _Felix L. Oswald_
Story of an Italian Workwoman's Life, The, _Marie L. Thompson_
Story of a Story, The, _Horace E. Scudder_
Substitute, The, _James Payn_
Temple Pilgrimage, A, _Henry Frederick Reddall_
Texas Sheep-Ranch, On a, _E.C. Reynolds_
Tobacco-Plantation, A, _Philip A. Bruce_
Truth about Dogs, The, _F.N. Zabriskie_
Turtling on the Outer Reef, _C.F. Holder_
Van, _Charles King, U.S.A._
Ville, Our, _Margaret Bertha Wright_
White-Whalers, The _C.F. Holder_




LITERATURE OF THE DAY, comprising Reviews of the following Works:


Across the Chasm
Agassiz, Louis: His Life and Correspondence. Edited by Elizabeth Gary
Agassiz
Allen, Willis Boyd--Pine-Cones
At the Red Glove
Bates, Arlo--A Wheel of Fire
Beers, Henry A.--Nathaniel Parker Willis
Behler, W.H., Lieutenant, U.S.N.--The Cruise of the Brooklyn
Bompas, George O.--Life of Frank Buckland
Byron, Lord--Childe Harold's Pilgrimage
Carey, Rose Nouchette--Barbara Heathcote's Trial
Carey, Eose Nouchette--For Lilias
Carryl, Charles E.--Davy the Goblin; or, What Followed Reading "Alice's
Adventures in Wonderland"
Cleveland, Rose Elizabeth--George Eliot's Poetry,
and Other Studies
Craddock, Charles Egbert--Down the Ravine
Dunning, Charlotte--Upon a Cast
Eugene Delacroix, par lui-meme
Forbes, F.R.G.S., Henry O.--A Naturalist's Wanderings in the Eastern
Archipelago.
A Narrative of Travel and Exploration from to
Hamilton, Alice King--One of the Duanes
Harrison, Mrs. Burton--Bric-a_Brac Stories
Harte, Bret--By Shore and Sedge
Hawthorne, Julian--Love--or a Name
Holmes, Oliver Wendell--The Last Leaf
Hornaday, William T.--Two Years in the Jungle
Howard, Blanche Willis--Aulnay Tower
Howells, William D.--The Rise of Silas Lapham
Jewett, Sarah Orne--A Marsh Island
Luska, Sidney--As it was Written: A Jewish Musician's Story
Married for Fun
Noble, Edmund--The Russian Revolt: its Causes, Condition, and
Prospects
Pennell, Joseph and Elizabeth Robbins--A Canterbury Pilgrimage
Phelps, Elizabeth Stuart--An Old Maid's Paradise
Pyle, Howard--Pepper and Salt; or, Seasoning for Young Folks
Pyle, Howard--Within the Capes
Roosevelt, Blanche--Life and Reminiscences of Gustave Dore
Rosseau, Jean--Hans Holbein
Searing, E.A.P.--A Social Experiment
Sermon on the Mount, The
Stanley, Henry M.--The Congo, and the Founding of its Free State:
A Story of Work and Exploration
Stockton, Frank R.--Rudder Grange
Tales from Many Sources
The Bar Sinister
Thompson, Maurice--At Love's Extremes
Torrey, Bradford--Birds in the Bush
Warner, Beverley Ellison--Troubled Waters
Wendell, Barrett--The Duchess Emilia
Whittier, John Greenleaf--Poems of Nature
*rs. A.L.--The Lady with the Rubies
*cles--J.F. Millet




OUR MONTHLY GOSSIP, comprising the following Articles:


* The, "Additional Hair" Supply, The,
Art of Modern
Novel-Writing, The, *
Daniel Webster's "Moods,"
Dothegirls Hall,
Etymology of "Babe," The,
Feuds and Lynch-Law in the Southwest,
Future for Women, A,
Ice-Saints, The,
Man who Laughs, The,
Mystifications of Authoresses,
Old Songs and Sweet Singers,
Reminiscence of Harriet Martineau, A,
Svenska Maid, A,
Tourgeneff's Idea of Bazaroff,
Virginia Lady of the Old School, A,
Why we Forget Names,




POETRY:


Carcanet, A, _John B. Tabb_
Elusive, _Sarah D. Hobart_
Epitaph written in the Sand on a Butterfly Drowned in the Sea,
_Helen Gray Cone_
Into Thy Hands, _Stuart Sterne_
Mithra, _Charles L. Hildreth_
Morning, _Florence Earle Coates_
On a Noble Character marred by littleness, _Charlotte Fiske Bates_
Probation, _Florence Earle Coates_
Rose Romance, _Ada Nichols_
Shadows All, _Paul Hamilton Hayne_
Song, _Robertson Trowbridge_
"What do I Wish for You?" ,_Carlotta Perry_
Wood-Thrush at Sunset,_Mary C. Peckham_

* * * * *


LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE

_JULY, 1885_.




ON THIS SIDE.

VII.


It has not been concealed that, with all his fine qualities, Mr. Ketchum
was an obstinate man, and so, in spite of his wife's remonstrances, he
came down-stairs next morning--Sunday morning--in a dress that she had
assured him was "only fit for one's bedroom,"--namely, a very gorgeous
Oriental dressing-gown (Mabel's gift the preceding Christmas), with a fez
on his head, and on his feet a pair of slippers of amazing workmanship and
soundlessness, the joy of his feet, if not of his heart. Thus accoutred,
he prowled about on the lower floor, looking after various things, and,
going into the pantry for something, he chanced to look through the small
window used for the transmission of dishes from the next room, and saw
Parsons holding a pile of letters one by one over a steaming kettle.
Unconscious of his proximity, the respectable Parsons dexterously and
neatly opened several envelopes with a practised hand, and then
transferred the letters to her pocket, to be enjoyed at her leisure, after
which she laid hold of the kettle and retired into the kitchen beyond.

"Well, upon my word, if that isn't the coolest thing I ever saw!"
exclaimed Mr. Ketchum mentally, and, feeling that he had made a great
discovery, was at first for sharing it immediately with Parsons's mistress;
but on reflection he thought differently. "It is her funeral: I guess I
had better not meddle: there would be a great scene," he thought. "At any
rate, I'll wait until they are leaving before putting her on her guard."
He went back to the dining-room to his newspaper, and sat there until the
others came down.

Miss Noel was not long in the room before an idea struck her. "Did you not
say that your post-bag containing the night's mail would be sent over this
morning?" she asked.

"I did. It came about an hour ago," said Mr. Ketchum.

"How very nice! I hope there may be something for me. It is so very trying
to get no news from England," said Miss Noel.

"Why, Mabel had twenty-three letters laid aside for you until you should
come. Didn't she give them to you?" asked Mr. Ketchum. "Were none of those
from England?"

"Oh, yes. But that was three days since, and I've heard nothing for a
fortnight. If Parsons has _quite_ finished with the letters, I suppose I
may as well have them. And she must be, by this. Would you kindly ring and
send for them?" said Miss Noel.

"What! you know that she reads your letters?" exclaimed Mr. Ketchum,
surprised.

"Oh, dear, yes. They all do. It is very tiresome, but they will do it.
Parsons is generally good enough to let me have them quite promptly; but
she reads them, of course,--all but my cousin Blanche Best's letters.
Blanche has always been my most intimate friend, and can't bear the idea:
so she blocked the game by a most ingenious device. She writes one
sentence in French, the next in Italian, the third in English,--at least
she did until a happier plan suggested itself: now she writes English in
German text. It answers perfectly; but it is having a great effect on
Parsons, quite undermining her constitution, I fear, especially when
important things are happening at 'The Court,' where I often go. I
sometimes wickedly slip one of Blanche's letters under the pin-cushion, as
if with the intention of concealing it, and I have so enjoyed seeing
Parsons whip it under her apron when she got the chance, knowing that she
could not make out a single word. She really looked quite green afterward
for a week: pure chagrin."

"I am sure I have done everything that I could think of to keep my letters
from my man," said Sir Robert, "but quite without success. I think he
finds my correspondence a little dull sometimes, as compared with that of
a former place. He came to me from the greatest scamp in England; and I
can fancy that the letters there were very various and diverting. My own
must be altogether too ponderous and respectable for a taste formed on
sensational models."

"Well, all I have got to say is that if I caught a servant of mine at that
little game I'd make my letters uncommonly interesting reading to him; and
if the style suited him, I'd see that he got a little leisure in the
penitentiary to copy them and impress them on his mind. Do you mean to say
that you don't even discharge them for it?" said Mr. Ketchum, "I never
heard anything like it!"

"One could discharge the culprit easily enough; the trouble is that his
successor or successors would do exactly the same thing," replied Sir
Robert. "When the Barons rose, they neglected to provide a remedy for an
unforeseen nuisance, and I suppose this literary partnership of Master &
Servant, Limited, will always exist. I wrote a note once to Beazely (my
man), addressed to myself, and told him that if he disapproved of the
Conservative tone of my correspondence, as was likely, seeing that he was
a Radical, I would make an effort to get at Dilke or Bright, with a view
to an _occasional_ note at least. The envelope had been resealed, I saw
when it reached me, but Beazely had no more expression in his face than
the Sphinx. My letters, however, were not tampered with for about a week."

Mrs. Ketchum senior became fluent in her amazement: "How perfectly
dreadful! Good gracious! What did you do about your husband's letters? The
idea of sharing his letters with a servant!"

She was addressing Mrs. Sykes, who said very cheerfully in reply, "Oh,
there was 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 force, while he got
out at intervals,--

"Jest--creep--High--such a fellow!" in staccato jerks that made every one
else laugh from sympathy.

"I call 'em that because Mother Schmidt made them for me so that I could
steal a march on my mother-in-law, and she's a Catholic and knew how to do
it. Talking of Catholics and what Washington calls the 'Peskypalians,' who
is going to church to-day?"

"I am going to walk over to Dale with Bijou Brown and her father," said
Ethel.

"That isn't as nice a church as ours. We will take the others into Kalsing,
eh, husband?" said Mabel; "that is, if they will come."

"I will go to the scaffold with Mrs. Ketchum," protested Sir Robert
gallantly. "What do you youngsters say?"

"Ramsay and I thought we would walk over to that little village on the
crest of a hill that one can see from my window," said Mr. Heathcote.

"You had much better go to church, --much better. But of course your soul
is your own," said Sir Robert.

"You won't have much body left when you get back: it is a good twenty
miles," remarked Mr. Ketchum.

"Oh, that is nothing." replied Mr. Ramsay.

"Forty miles there and back! Are they crazy?" Mrs. Ketchum asked of Mabel
_sotto voce_; to which a smile and shake of the head came in answer.--"The
day is very damp, Job. I am almost afraid to go out; but it is my duty,
and I will."

"That's right, ma. Do your duty. It is a good earthly as well as heavenly
investment," replied Mr. Ketchum.

"But I wish, son, that you would live in Kalsing, next to the church, or
in New York, which would be better. I saw a beautiful house advertised in
the neighborhood of Trinity Church the other day, and wrote to ask about
it," said Mrs. Ketchum, who was always in spirit moving the family away
from Fairfield.

"You are too speculative, ma, entirely," said he. "You are like my partner,
Richardson, who would write to ask the Czar what he would take for the
Winter Palace, if I'd let him, when if steamships were a dollar a dozen he
couldn't put up enough to buy a gang-plank. I can't move next to a church,
because all you womenites belong to different ones; but I can take a room
for you in the steeple and have an elevator put in that will make close
connection with the services, if you like."

"Don't be irreverent, my son," said Mrs. Ketchum, who, like some other
Protestants, believed in an infallible steeple, if not an infallible Pope.
"I don't expect _my_ wishes to be considered in anything."

"Oh, come, now, ma; that isn't fair. Except that I married to suit myself,
which is about the only foolish thing that I have done, I have been
tolerably obedient, I think," said Mr. Ketchum, aware that he was on
dangerous ground.

"Do tell us about it. You wanted him to marry some one else,--some one
with a fortune, didn't you?" said Mrs. Sykes. "Quite natural, I am sure."

"She wanted me to marry the ugliest woman east of the Rockies," said Mr.
Ketchum. "But I couldn't stand that face behind my cups and saucers three
hundred and sixty-five days in the year, and I bolted to England, where my
wife picked me up."

"She wasn't so ugly at all, Job, except that her nose was a little
aquiline," protested Mrs. Ketchum.

"Aquiline as a camel's back," asserted her son, in an aside.

"And her hair _was_ rather auburn," Mrs. Ketchum went on, in reluctant
concession.

"Call it pink, as the English do their hunting-coats," suggested he,
smiling.

"But such a dear, _good_ girl, you quite forgot that she wasn't exactly
handsome" ("No, not precisely," interjected he) "when you came to know
her."

"That I _never_ did. It might as a speculation have done to get a cast of
her face for andirons to keep the American child from falling into the
fire; but _marry her_! Good Lord! When I eat anything now that disagrees
with me, I dream of Emily's mouth," affirmed Mr. Ketchum, with the most
laughing mirth in his eyes, his mobile features expressing volumes.

"Her mouth _was_ large, and her teeth _a little_ prominent. But you shall
not abuse Emily any more. You would have been very happy with her, I can
tell you," asserted Mrs. Ketchum. "You would have got over her mouth."

"I might in time have got _around_ it, and I could easily have got _into_
it, but I should never have got _over_ it in the world," affirmed Mr.
Ketchum, with decision. "I would rather be married to that Puseyite there,
unhappy as I am."

This closed the little duel between the mother and son, and another laugh
drowned Mabel's remark to Miss Noel, which was, "Husband is in one of his
joking moods, and does not mean that he is _really_ unhappy at all. He
should not say such things, they are so very misleading."

When quiet was restored, a discussion followed about the parties in the
English Church, and, the question being raised as to who was the head of
the Low Church party, Mr. Ketchum had just said, "Why, _Lucifer_, of
course," when, amid general merriment, Miss Brown walked in, saying, "I
never heard of such an uproarious Sunday party. Are you ready, Ethel? We
ought to be off,"--which practically ended the meal, for first Mr. Ramsay
and then the others left the table, he to talk to Bijou, they to get ready
for church. Job's eyes followed Mr. Ramsay, and he said to Sir Robert,
"What a charming girl Mrs. De Witt was in the old Cheltenham days!
Heathcote didn't make the landing there, and I'm sorry."

"So am I. She is an immense favorite of mine," said Sir Robert. "As
charming as ever! It was a more serious thing than I thought it would be.
I doubt whether he ever marries."

"She was a born enchantress, Jenny was," he replied. "Some women are like
poison oak,--once get them in your system, and they will break out on you
every spring for fifty years, if you live that long, fresh and painful as
ever. But as for his marrying, some one of our girls will enter for the
Consolation stakes, very likely, and he will be married before he knows
what has hurt him."

"A consummation devoutly to be wished," said Sir Robert. "He is my heir,
you know."

In a few minutes Ethel joined Bijou, who looked at her rather hard, as she
felt. Ethel wore a simple serge dress, heavy boots, a stout frieze jacket,
and a hat of a shape unknown in America, that seemed to be all cocks'
plumes. Her eyes being weak, she had put on her smoked glasses. The day
being damp, and her chest delicate, she had added her respirator. "I am
nicely protected, am I not?" she said contentedly. "I had a severe cold
last winter, from which I am not quite recovered, and auntie thinks I had
best be prudent. Are you ready?"

"Not quite," said Bijou. "I want to see Mrs. Ketchum a moment." She ran
off, accordingly, into the library in search of the old lady, whom she
found there looking out the lessons, it being her practice to verify every
word the clergyman read, and no small satisfaction to catch him tripping.
"Do, Mrs. Ketchum, speak to Ethel and get her to take off those machines
and put on something stylish," said Bijou. "I am really ashamed to take
her into our pew; people will stare so. She is a perfect fright. The idea
of a girl making herself look like that!"

Mrs. Ketchum, however, declined to interfere, and when Bijou got back to
the drawing-room Ethel was missing. Taking advantage of Bijou's absence,
she had gone up-stairs, and, during the library interview, was saying to
her aunt, "You never saw anything got up as she is,--silk, and satin, and
lace, and bracelets, and feathers, and what not. And for church, too! I
wonder she should turn out like that: she should have better taste. I
really don't quite like going with her, she looks so conspicuous,--just as
if she were going to a garden-party or flower-show, for all the world."
When they met again, both girls looked a little conscious, and Ethel said,
"How very smart you are!"

"Why, this is an old dress that I put on for fear it might rain," said
Bijou. "Don't you hate having to wear goggles and cages and things? It
must be perfectly horrid."

"I don't mind. Of course one isn't looking one's best; but that is of no
consequence. Health is the first consideration," said Ethel. "Ah! there
comes your father."

Of the walk it need only be said that it was very pleasant going, and
rained a little coming back; that Ethel produced her "goloshes," put up
her umbrella, and walked home as serenely as her concern for Bijou would
admit. That young lady had on paper-soled boots that got soaking wet, a
fine summer parasol that she seemed to think fulfilled every office that
was desirable in shielding her bonnet, a dress ill fitted to resist chill
or dampness. She persisted that she was "all right," while her pretty
teeth chattered; but she caught a violent cold, and was in bed a week,
while Ethel came down to dinner as rosy as Baby Ketchum, and ate as
heartily as Mr. Ramsay and Mr. Heathcote, who certainly showed themselves
good trenchermen. Mrs. Ketchum persisted in regarding the two young men
very much as though they had been returned Arctic travellers, and amused
them not a little by suggesting that they should lie down all the evening.

"Why, we haven't turned a hair. We are as fit as a fiddle," they exclaimed,
and looked anything but unstrung.

Ethel had made one speech that astonished Bijou considerably. "Do you know,
I have been watching you ever since I have known you," she said, "to see
if it was true? That is, that the American ladies _spat_ on all occasions,
as I have read. Don't think me rude to mention it."

"We don't quarrel any more than any one else," said Bijou, quite
misunderstanding.

"I don't mean that, you know: _expectorate_. And I see it was not true at
all. I have not seen it once," explained Ethel.

"I should think not! Well, I do think! How could you believe such
ridiculous nonsense?" asked Bijou indignantly.

"Don't be vexed, Bijou dear. I did not mean to make unkind reflections. It
was only that I had read a stupid book about America," said Ethel; and
peace was restored.

As for the other members of the party, they had gone to a handsome church
in Kalsing, which boasted the best stained glass in the country and was
thoroughly churchly and attractive. Here they not only heard good music,
but one of the most eloquent preachers in "the American branch of the
English establishment," as Sir Robert called the Episcopalian communion.

It amused Mr. Ketchum not a little to see the way in which the baronet
conducted his devotions,--his preliminary prayer in his silk hat, from
which streamed a halo of side-whiskers, the heartiness with which he
joined in the service, especially the way in which, avoiding all the
compromises the male American practises in prayer-time (such as bending
forward a little, or leaning back pensively with the hand shading the
face), he plumped squarely down on his knees, turned up a pair of shoes
half as long as his very respectable, tightly-rolled umbrella, and made
his responses in a clear, audible voice, like an honest gentleman and a
miserable sinner.

It did not escape Mr. Ketchum's keen eyes, either, that although Sir
Robert contributed a five-dollar bill to the offertory, he first rolled it
up into a tiny, unrecognizable wad before dropping it into the alms-basin.
The service over, Sir Robert and the eminent divine were made acquainted.
The latter said he would call as soon as he could snatch a moment, and Sir
Robert, his hands folded behind his back, holding his hat and gloves, made
the rounds of the church, inspecting every bit of carving, frescoing,
glass, and brass, and making the most intelligent criticisms upon what he
saw to Miss Noel in a whisper. Mrs. Sykes sat still in the pew, fuming at
being "let in for a charity sermon," for some inexplicable reason, seeing
she had given nothing to the charity. Miss Noel was stopped at the door by
no less a person than Captain Kendall, who had suddenly discovered that he
had a great-aunt living in Kalsing, whom he must see, and now stood there
saying, "Where is Miss Ethel? How is it that you are here without her? I
hope she is quite well."

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