tastes and his sensibilities. He covers his wall with your paper, and he hangs my picture upon it. He does not know either of us, but his soul is in sympathy with us. I think you can hardly say that he has no right to take an interest in you."
She looked at me and smiled.
"That is all very pretty," she said, "but rather sentimental."
"Not a bit too much so," I exclaimed. "Clara, I think you cannot any longer be angry with our host, and having set him aside, will you not consider me"
"And consent to be a background to your work?" she asked. There was a bright sparkle in her eye, which made me feel justified in gently closing the door.
When Major Pendallas returned from the big bam, where, according to his custom, he had been making Christmas presents to all his people, he found Clara and me in the parlour. He approached us in a somewhat hesitating way, and as I looked around at him I could see an expression on his countenance which looked like a tear that he had come back before I had gotten through with the business of the morning, or perhaps before I had begun it. But as we both rose to meet him, I still holding Clara's hand, all doubt vanished from his handsome, honest, weatherbrowned face.
"I know it," he cried, as he looked from one to the other of us, "I know it. You needn't tell me anything," and he stretched out a hand to each of us. "This is a glorious Christmas," he said, "a glorious Christmas." It was plain he wanted to say a good deal, but could not find words, but Clara allowed no embarrassing silence.
"I have been very angry with you, Major," she said, with the kindest of smiles upon her still slightly flushed face. He looked at her inquiringly.
"It was because you were making all sorts of arrangements for me, without my knowing a word about them."
"Oh, that was because he didn't understand about the wall-paper," I said. "If he had known about that"
"About what?" exclaimed Major Pendallas.
We two laughed, and then we took him into the reading-room. When all was explained to him he exclaimed—
"Upon my word!" and then, with his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his short coat, he turned about, and deliberately gazed upon the four walls of the room.
"Truly," he cried, "I can't take it in. To think that the two years I have been sitting in this room, surrounded by these warm, bright, delicate colours, these flowers of spring, these soft leaves, and these graceful spirals, this general impression of blossomy air, and then to think that you did it—I can't comprehend it. Why, I'll tell you, madam, when I went with my niece to a great city store, where they had thousands of patterns of wall-paper, I picked out this one in ten minutes; and, although there were a half-dozen others she fancied, I would have none but this for my reading-room. 'It is the flowers and air of spring,' I said, and I want to have it always around me. I thought I liked you, madam, on account of what I had heard of you, and because of looking at you and listening to you; but that wasn’t all—no, that wasn't all."
I here was a moisture in Clara's eyes as she held out her hand to him.
"It is most marvellous and most charming," I said, "and I can see only one objection to the state of affairs—the picture should have been Clara's, and the background mine."
"Not a bit of it," exclaimed the Major. "The picture can be taken down, it can be stolen—lots of things can happen to it, and it occupies only a little space after all; but that beautiful wall is there, and it is here, and all around us; and here it will stay! It will last out my lifetime, and if any accidents happen to it I’ve got a lot more of it upstairs."
A servant now entered with a letter, which had been brought over from the Dollivers' by the man in snow-shoes. It was written to Clara, and she read it to us. Our friends were evidently overjoyed that we had not remained in the city, as they had supposed, and that we would soon be with them. They insisted that Major Pendallas should come over with us and spend the night. They had a large party of friends at the house, and were having a jolly time.
"Oh, I'll go," said the Major; "I intended to go, anyway; but as to jolly times, the times they are having there are no more to compare with what we are having here than an ashman's donkey is fit to run a three-mile heat with my colt Sapling. But we'll help to make them jolly. I'll take over the big silver punch bowl that I won four years ago, and have not used yet, for I have never had people
