vaulted door, where a tall servant, who, it was easy to see, had been
a soldier,--in the precise livery, no doubt, warranted by the heraldic
colors (his stockings were red!),--stood upright as a sentry. And coming
into the hall, it looked absolutely cheerful,--it took us by surprise.
There was a great fireplace, and, though it was still summer, a great
fire! It did not seem a bit too much, for the walls were stone, the
lofty roof open to the rafters, while the windows were small and narrow,
and so high and so deep sunk that one seemed in a vault. Nevertheless,
I say the room looked sociable and cheerful,--thanks principally to the
fire, and partly to a very ingenious medley of old tapestry at one
end, and matting at the other, fastened to the lower part of the walls,
seconded by an arrangement of furniture which did credit to my uncle's
taste for the picturesque. After we had looked about and admired to our
heart's content, Roland took us, not up one of those noble staircases
you see in the later manorial residences, but a little winding stone
stair, into the rooms he had appropriated to his guests. There was first
a small chamber, which he called my father's study,--in truth, it would
have done for any philosopher or saint who wished to shut out the world,
and might have passed for the interior of such a column as the Stylites
inhabited; for you must have climbed a ladder to have looked out of the
window, and then the vision of no short-sighted man could have got over
the interval in the wall made by the narrow casement, which, after all,
gave no other prospect than a Cumberland sky, with an occasional rook
in it. But my father, I think I have said before, did not much care for
scenery, and he looked round with great satisfaction upon the retreat
assigned him.

"We can knock up shelves for your books in no time," said my uncle,
rubbing his hands.

"It would be a charity," quoth my father, "for they have been very long
in a recumbent position, and would like to stretch themselves, poor
things. My dear Roland, this room is made for books,--so round and so
deep! I shall sit here, like Truth in a well."

"And there is a room for you, sister, just out of it," said my uncle,
opening a little, low, prison-like door into a charming room, for its
window was low and it had an iron balcony; "and out of that is the
bedroom. For you, Pisistratus, my boy, I am afraid that it is soldier's
quarters, indeed, with which you will have