LITMIR.BIZ

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I wish somebody would let me know it."

      "It's all werry comformable indeed, marse," said the obsequious Wool.

      "I wonder, now, if there is anything on the face of the earth that would tempt me to leave my cozy fireside and go abroad to-night? I wonder how large a promise of pleasure or profit or glory it would take now?"

      "Much as ebber Congress itse'f could give, if it give you a penance for all your sarvins," suggested Wool.

      "Yes, and more; for I wouldn't leave my home comforts to-night to insure not only the pension but the thanks of Congress!" said the old man, replenishing his glass with steaming punch and drinking it off leisurely.

      The clock struck eleven. The old man again replenished his glass, and, while sipping its contents, said:

      "You may fill the warming-pan and warm my bed, Wool. The fumes of this fragrant punch are beginning to rise to my head and make me sleepy."

      The servant filled the warming-pan with glowing embers, shut down the lid and thrust it between the sheets to warm the couch of this luxurious Old Hurricane. The old man continued to toast his feet, sip his punch and smack his lips. He finished his glass, set it down, and was just in the act of drawing on his woolen nightcap, preparatory to stepping into his well-warmed bed when he was suddenly startled by a loud ringing of the hall-door bell.

      "What the foul fiend can that mean at this time of night?" exclaimed Old Hurricane, dropping his nightcap and turning sharply around toward Wool, who, warming-pan in hand, stood staring with astonishment. "What does that mean, I ask you?"

      "'Deed, I dunno, sar, less it's some benighted traveler in search o' shelter outen de storm!"

      "Humph! and in search of supper, too, of course, and everybody gone away or gone to bed but you and me!"

      At this moment the ringing was followed by a loud knocking.

      "Marse, don't less you and me listen to it, and then we ain't 'bliged to 'sturb ourselves with answering of it!" suggested Wool.

      "'Sdeath, sir! Do you think that I am going to turn a deaf ear to a stranger that comes to my house for shelter on such a night as this? Go and answer the bell directly."

      "Yes, sar."

      "But stop—look here, sirrah—mind I am not to be disturbed. If it is a traveler, ask him in, set refreshments before him and show him to bed. I'm not going to leave my warm room to welcome anybody to-night, please the Lord. Do you hear?"

      "Yes, sar," said the darkey, retreating.

      As Wool took a shaded taper and opened the door leading from his master's chamber, the wind was heard howling through the long passages, ready to burst into the cozy bedroom.

      "Shut that door, you scoundrel!" roared the old man, folding the skirt of his warm dressing-gown across his knees, and hovering closer to the fire.

      Wool quickly obeyed, and was heard retreating down the steps.

      "Whew!" said the old man, spreading his hands over the blaze with a look of comfortable appreciation. "What would induce me to go abroad on such a night as this? Wind blowing great guns from the northwest—snow falling fast from the heavens and rising just as fast before the wind from the ground—cold as Lapland, dark as Erebus! No telling the earth from the sky. Whew!" and to comfort the cold thought, Old Hurricane poured out another glass of smoking punch and began to sip it.

      "How I thank the Lord that I am not a doctor! If I were a doctor, now, the sound of that bell at this hour of night would frighten me; I should think some old woman had been taken with the pleurisy, and wanted me to get up and go out in the storm; to turn out of my warm bed to ride ten miles through the snow to prescribe for her. A doctor never can feel sure, even in the worst of weathers, of a good night's rest. But, thank Heaven, I am free from all such annoyances, and if I am sure of anything in this world it is of my comfortable night's sleep," said Old Hurricane, as he sipped his punch, smacked his lips and toasted his feet.

      At this moment Wool reappeared.

      "Shut the door, you villain! Do you intend to stand there holding it open on me all night?" vociferated the old man.

      Wool hastily closed the offending portals and hurried to his master's side.

      "Well, sir, who was it rung the bell?"

      "Please, marster, sir, it wer' de Reverend Mr. Parson Goodwin."

      "Goodwin? Been to make a sick-call, I suppose, and got caught in the snow-storm. I declare it is as bad to be a parson as it is to be a doctor. Thank the Lord I am not a parson, either; if I were, now, I might be called away from my cozy armchair and fireside to ride twelve miles to comfort some old man dying of quinsy. Well, here—help me into bed, pile on more comforters, tuck me up warm, put a bottle of hot water at my feet, and then go and attend to the parson," said the old man, getting up and moving toward his inviting couch.

      "Sar! sar! stop, sar, if you please!" cried Wool, going after him.

      "Why, what does the old fool mean?" exclaimed Old Hurricane, angrily.

      "Sar, de Reverend Mr. Parson Goodwin say how he must see you yourself, personable, alone!"

      "See me, you villain! Didn't you tell him that I had retired?"

      "Yes, marse; I tell him how you wer' gone to bed and asleep more'n an hour ago, and he ordered me to come wake you up, and say how it were a matter o' life and death!"

      "Life and death? What have I to do with life and death? I won't stir! If the parson wants to see me he will have to come up here and see me in bed," exclaimed Old Hurricane, suiting the action to the word by jumping into bed and drawing all the comforters and blankets up around his head and shoulders.

      "Mus' I fetch him reverence up, sar?"

      "Yes; I wouldn't get up and go down to see—Washington. Shut the door, you rascal, or I'll throw the bootjack at your wooden head."

      Wool obeyed with alacrity and in time to escape the threatened missile.

      After an absence of a few minutes he was heard returning, attending upon the footsteps of another. And the next minute he entered, ushering in the Rev. Mr. Goodwin, the parish minister of Bethlehem, St. Mary's.

      "How do you do? How do you do? Glad to see you, sir; glad to see you, though obliged to receive you in bed. Fact is, I caught a cold with this severe change of weather, and took a warm negus and went to bed to sweat it off. You'll excuse me. Wool, draw that easy-chair up to my bedside for worthy Mr. Goodwin, and bring him a glass of warm negus. It will do him good after his cold ride."

      "I thank you, Major Warfield. I will take the seat but not the negus, if you please, to-night."

      "Not the negus? Oh, come now, you are joking. Why, it will keep you from catching cold and be a most comfortable nightcap, disposing you to sleep and sweat like a baby. Of course, you spend the night with us?"

      "I thank you, no. I must take the road again in a few minutes."

      "Take the road again to-night! Why, man alive! it is midnight, and the snow driving like all Lapland!"

      "Sir, I am sorry to refuse your proffered hospitality and leave your comfortable roof to-night, and sorrier still to have to take you with me," said the pastor, gravely.

      "Take me with you! No, no, my good sir!—no, no, that is too good a joke—ha! ha!"

      "Sir, I fear that you will find it a very serious one. Your servant told you that my errand was one of imminent urgency?"

      "Yes; something like life and death——"

      "Exactly; down in the cabin near the Punch Bowl there is an old woman dying——"

      "There! I knew it! I was just saying there might be an old woman dying! But, my dear sir, what's that to me? What can I do?"

      "Humanity, sir, would prompt you."

      "But,

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