He heard a hearty laugh at a little distance, and perceived that the picture, which at first had seemed to spread out over the whole wall, was really divided into two parts, something like an exhibition he remembered of dissolving views. This was delightful. The first picture faded out into gloom, and gave place to a bright, cheerful room in the third story of a house in the city. There were only two rooms,—this, and a small anteroom. The furniture was simple, even poor. Through the window the snow was seen falling, and the blaze flickered, in cheerful contrast, on the hearth. A woman, neither young nor pretty, stood with an astonished expression, and an elderly man laughed loudly, and sat down before the fire.
"What in the world shall I do?" said the woman.
"Do, my dear?—why, bring me my dressing-gown"; said he, laughing again so cheerily, that it was contagious; and as she brought the coarse wadded garment he asked for, she laughed too.
"A pretty kettle of fish!" said she.
"Yes! Now what shall we do? Not a dollar in our pockets!"
"Nor a coat to your back!" broke in the woman.
Then they both laughed again, loudly and heartily.
Fred remembered now what they were laughing at. The man was a minister, well known in Boston, and the woman was his wife. He had just come in, running through the storm, and almost out of breath.
"Wife! my coat! Don't you see I am in my shirt-sleeves? I've got a snow-bank on my back!"
"Why! where in the world—what have you done with your coat?"