s light play
and the mouth its light smile, and the doctor's advance to meet his
friend was marked with all its graceful and easy unconcern. He did not
even seem energetic enough to be very glad; for grace and carelessness
still blended in his welcome and in his hospitable attentions, nothing
of which however was failing. He had presently made Mr. Linden as
comfortable as himself, so far as possible outward appliances could be
effectual; established him at a good side of the table; Burnished him
with fruit and pressed him with wine; and then sitting at ease at his
own corner, sipped his claret daintily, eyeing Mr. Linden good
humouredly between sips; but apparently too happily on good terms with
comfort to be in any wise eager or anxious as to what Mr. Linden's
business might be, or whether he had any.

"Has the news of my arrival flown over Pattaquasset already?" said he.
"I thought I had seen nothing but frieze jackets, and friezes of broken
plaster--and I have certainly felt so much of another kind of _freeze_
that I should hardly think even news could have stirred."

Mr. Linden's reception of the doctor's hospitality had been merely
nominal--except so far as face and voice had the receiving, and he
answered quietly--

"I don't know. I happened to want you, doctor, and so I found out that
you were here."

"Want me? I am very glad to be wanted by you--so that it be not _for_
you. What is it, my dear Linden?"

"No--you will not be glad," said Mr. Linden,--"though it is both for me
and not for me. I want you to go with me to see one of my little
scholars who is sick."

"Who is he?"

"One whom you have seen but will not remember,--Johnny Fax."

"Fax--" said the doctor--"I remember the name, but no particular owner
of it. What's the matter with him?"

"I want you to come and see."

"Now?"--

"As near that as may be."

"Now it shall be, then; though with such a February night on one side,
it takes all your power on the other to draw me out of this chair. You
don't look much like Comedy, and I am very little like the great
buskin-wearer--but I would as lieve Tragedy had me by the other
shoulder as February, when his fingers have been so very long away from
the fire. Did you ever read Thomson's 'Castle of Indolence,' Linden?"

"Not to much purpose--the name is all I remember."

"Stupid book,"--said the doctor;--"but a delightful place!"

The luxury of broadcloth and furs in which the doctor was presently