ned brightly in the fire-place. The old man threw
another on the burning heap, filled the kettle with water and hung it
over the fire. Next he went to the sideboard and brought forth the
various ingredients for the toddy.

"How do you like America?" said the elder, with commonplace
indifference, as he crunched a lump of sugar in the bottom of the
glass, dissolving the particles with a few drops of water.

"Very much, indeed," said the Tuscan, with the air of a man who had
answered the question before.

"Great country for girls!" said Sanders, pouring a liberal quantity of
Old Tom gin in the glass and placing it where it gradually would get
warm.

"And for men!" responded Diotti, enthusiastically.

"Men don't amount to much here, women run everything," retorted the
elder, while he repeated the process of preparing the sugar and gin in
the second glass. The kettle began to sing.

"That's music for you," chuckled the old man, raising the lid to see if
the water had boiled sufficiently. "Do you know I think a dinner horn
and a singing kettle beat a symphony all hollow for real down-right
melody," and he lifted the kettle from the fire-place.

Diotti smiled.

With mathematical accuracy the old man filled the two tumblers with
boiling water.

"Try that," handing a glass of the toddy to Diotti; "you will find it
all right," and the old man drew an armchair toward the fire-place,
smacking his lips in anticipation.

The violinist placed his chair closer to the fire and sipped the drink.

"Your country is noted for its beautiful women?"

"We have exquisite types of femininity in Tuscany," said the young man,
with patriotic ardor.

"Any as fine looking as--as--as--well, say the young lady we dined with
to-night?"

"Miss Wallace?" queried the Tuscan.

"Yes, Miss Wallace," this rather impatiently.

"She is very beautiful," said Diotti, with solemn admiration.

"Have you ever seen any one prettier?" questioned the old man, after a
second prolonged sip.

"I have no desire to see any one more beautiful," said the violinist,
feeling that the other was trying to draw him out, and determined not
to yield.

"You will pardon the inquisitiveness of an old man, but are not you
musicians a most impressionable lot?"

"We are human," answered the violinist.

"I imagined you were like sailors and had a sweetheart in every port."

"That would be a delightful prospect to one having polygamous
aspirations, but for myse