"Sitting in my study, ten minutes ago, I perceived through the window a youth upon the wall, freely helping himself to my peaches. Well! as I, of course, disapproved of this proceeding—for, had he asked me for the peaches he should have had them with pleasure—I went out, and calling Jones, my gardener, desired him to expostulate with the youth; but the moment he appeared the youth dropped from the wall, and Jones, who followed him, informs me that he saw him enter here."
"Impossible!" exclaimed Aunt Eleanor. "My nephew is the only youth I have about the premises!"
"What is the age of your nephew, may I ask?"
"About seventeen."
"Has he black hair, flowing freely over his shoulders?"
"He has."
"I am sorry then to say, my dear madam, that he is the youth who purloined my peaches."
"But really!—my dear sir!—Oh! it cannot be! The dear boy has been in bed and asleep for the last hour."
"Is he asleep now?" inquired the reverend gentleman.
Aunt Eleanor rang the bell, and when the servant appeared, she desired her to go into Sylvester's room, and to ascertain whether he really was asleep or not.
"This is strange," said Aunt Eleanor; "very strange, indeed!" And the pastor echoed this observation, by saying that it was strange, very strange, indeed.
"Well, Mary?" said Aunt Eleanor, when the servant re-appeared.
"Master Sylvester sleeps like a top, ma'am," promptly replied Mary.
"I thought so!" observed Aunt Eleanor. "I knew that he would. The poor dear boy was exhausted."
"Well; this is very extraordinary!" said the reverend gentleman, who couldn't tell at all what to make of it. "Really, I should very much, indeed, like to see him."
"For your satisfaction, he shall be at once awakened."
"Oh dear me, no! There is not the least necessity for that."
"Then will you do me the favour to walk up and see him?"
"Why, if you particularly wish me to do so," replied the reverend gentleman, "I will!" And he rose from his seat, and Aunt Eleanor rose too; and Mary, who couldn't conceive what it meant, led the way up to Sylvester's room.
"Poor boy!" said Aunt Eleanor. "There he is, and there he has been for the last hour."
That he was there, then, appeared to the reverend gentleman to be abundantly clear; but that there he had been for the last hour, was in his calm judgment, apocryphal—very. He could not believe it. Why—it was the very face—the very hair! It was moreover plain, that he was then sleeping soundly: the pastor had no doubt at all about that; but, as he wished very much indeed to see him awake, he dropped his stick—very accidentally, of course,—and thus produced a noise which had the effect desired.
