"What ho! Helen, bring another log; we're freezing," cried Professor Cyanite, changing the conversation, much to the relief of the girl, who was glad to escape from the banter of the club by quitting the room.
Our guests began their repast of cold meat and pickles, bread and cheese, and home-brewed ale. After they had finished the daughter of the landlord re-entered with a large log, which she placed on the fire.
"That's right, my girl," said Mr. Oldstone, drawing his chair up to the fire; "now bring us pipes."
The girl left the room, and soon returned with a bundle of long clay pipes, already waxed, which she distributed amongst the company, receiving a chuck under the chin from one; a gentle pat on the cheek from another; from a third, a stroke on the head; from a fourth, a squeeze of the hand; a fifth placed his arm round her waist; while a sixth pretended to kiss her, but no further harm was done. Our artist placed a chair for her next to himself, round the fire, and asked her if she were fond of hearing stories.
The maiden blushed and smiled and said that she was.
"Bravo, Helen," said Mr. Oldstone; "remain with us and hear a fresh story. Professor Cyanite is just going to favour us."
A circle was formed round the fire; Helen seating herself modestly by the side of the artist, while the professor, sitting back in his chair, and stretching out his legs towards the fire, stroked his ample forehead, and with a puff at his pipe, commenced the following story.