ed, helping to steak, "if Quimby comes before we finish, he will have
to go foraging for his own dishes!"

Mr. Stanwood was praising the steak, which he certainly ate as if the
admiration was genuine, when a timid rap announced Quimby's reappearance
on the scene. In complete change of raiment, smelling like a field of
new-mown hay, and figuratively clothed in sackcloth and ashes, he
entered.

"I--I beg pardon," he said, looking not at those he addressed, but
humbly at the Duchess, who had been walking the floor impatiently and
indignantly, but was now contentedly chewing. "I--I assure you I shall
be delighted to go out and get Charlotte Russes to replace those I so
wantonly destroyed. Will you--may I be allowed?"

"Not on any account," said Cyn, quickly. "Besides, the stores are closed
to-day."

"So they are, so they are!" he exclaimed, putting his hand to his head
dejectedly.

"But we can exist without Charlotte Russes, I think," Nattie said. She
had quite recovered her good humor, and was reconciled even to Mr.
Stanwood's company; indeed, had secretly confessed he was really an
acquisition. Such is the power of good beefsteak!

"Some other time we will talk about it," Cyn said. "And now, we must
improvise you a cup, plate, knife, fork, and spoon. I know you must be
hungry after your exploit."

Quimby blushed.

"I--you shall have fifty Charlotte Russes tomorrow!" he ejaculated. "But
the articles you mention--I--have in my room, and will bring them. You
see I--sometimes have a little private lunch myself, you know," and
departing, he in a moment returned with his dinner accouterments which
Cyn commanded him to put down at once, lest he demolish them.

"Let me see," she added, as he meekly deposited his burden on the
nearest piece of furniture--which happened to be the piano. "I can make
room for you here, next me, I think."

"No! no!" he exclaimed quickly; "if you will be so kind, I--I would
rather sit on that little stool in the corner, where I can do no damage,
you know!"

"Oh! we must not make a martyr of you!" laughed Nattie, as she cut a pie
with a very dull knife, which caused the very unsteady table to shake,
so that every one's coffee slopped over.

"No, indeed; there is plenty of room here," added Mr. Stanwood,
steadying his cracked tumbler. But Quimby shook his head.

"Now, really--I--I shall feel much more comfortable if I may--if you
will allow me to sit on the stool. I--I am used to it, you