“Ah, well, Charley, suppose you take Mr. Smith over then; you will be more comfortable there than here. I shall follow you in half an hour or so.”
“This way,” said Charley. And the two young men, passing through the house and descending a few steps, found themselves upon a pavement of powdered shells, which led to a frame building, painted white, and one story in height, which stood about fifty yards westward of the mansion. This they entered by the left door of two that opened upon the yard, and found themselves in my grandfather’s library and sitting-room. It was fitted up with shelves, built into the walls, upon which was to be found a miscellaneous library of about two thousand volumes; the furniture consisting of a very wide and solid square table, a couple of lounges, and a number of very comfortable chairs of various patterns. Charley took up his position with his back to the fire, while the Don sauntered round the room, running his eye along the shelves, and occasionally taking down and examining a volume, and the two chatted quietly for some time.
“The old gentleman is coming over. I hear his step. He has something to show you.”
“Ah?” said the Don, looking around the room.
“It is not in this room; it is in the next,—or, rather, it is that room itself,” added Charley, pointing to a door. “That room is the apple of his eye. I always reserve for him the pleasure of exhibiting it to his friends.”
“Looking over our books?” interrupted my grandfather, entering the room briskly, with a ruddy winter glow upon his fine face.
“Yes; and I observe that you have a large and capital selection of French classics.”
“Yes; I picked them up when I was abroad as a young man. You read French? Ah! Then this will be the place for you on rainy days when you cannot hunt. Charley, have you shown Mr. Smith the Hall?”
“Not yet.”
“No?” ejaculated my grandfather, with a surprise that was surprising, seeing that Charley had given him that identical answer on a hundred similar occasions previously. “Mr. Smith,” said he, walking toward the inner door, “we have a room here that we think rather unique in its way.” And he placed his hand upon the knob. “We call it ‘The Hall.’ Walk in!” And he opened wide the door, stepping back with the air of an artist withdrawing a curtain from a new production of his pencil.