"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."