did not come. Meanwhile, the huge trees that surrounded the house had
loomed in sight, and presently the beauties of lawn and parterre began
to appear beyond the high iron fence, through which I could catch now
and then short glimpses of hurrying forms, as lanterns were hung on the
trees and all things put in readiness for the evening's entertainment.
Suddenly a thought struck me. If Mr. Benson was the man they said, he
was not engaged in any of these arrangements. Mr. Benson was a hermit.
Now what could I say that would interest a hermit? I racked my brains; a
single idea came. It was daring in its nature, but what of that! The
gate must be passed, Mr. Benson must be seen--or so my adventurous
curiosity decided,--and to do it, something must be ventured. Taking out
my card, which was simply inscribed with my name, I wrote on it,
"_Business private and immediate_," and assuming my most gentlemanly and
inoffensive manner, rode calmly through the gate to the front of the
house. If I had been on foot I doubt if I would have been allowed to
pass by the servant lounging about in that region, but the horse carried
me through in more senses than one, and almost before I realized it, I
found myself pausing before the portico, in full view of a dozen or more
busy men and boys.

Imitating the manner of Mr. Benson at the post-office, I jumped from my
horse and threw the bridle to the boy nearest me. Instantly and before I
could take a step, a servant issued from the open door, and with an
expression of anxiety somewhat surprising under the circumstances, took
his stand before me in a way to hinder my advance.

"Mr. Benson does not receive visitors to-day," said he.

"I am not a visitor," replied I; "I have business with Mr. Benson," and
I handed him my card, which he looked at with a doubtful expression.

"Mr. Benson's commands are not to be disobeyed," persisted the man. "My
master sees no one to-day."

"But this is an exceptional case," I urged, my curiosity rising at this
unexpected opposition. "My business is important and concerns him. He
cannot refuse to see me."

The servant shook his head with what appeared to me to be an unnecessary
expression of alarm, but nevertheless retreated a step, allowing me to
enter. "I will call Mr. Hartley," cried he.

But that was just what I did not wish. It was Benson the father I had
come to see, and I was not to be baffled in this way.

"Mr. Hartley won't do," said I, in my lowes