Mr. Carvel.

"Ah, father, I see you are in sore need of a woman's hand about the old
house. What a difference a touch makes, to be sure." And she takes off
her gloves and attacks the morning room, setting an ornament here and
another there, and drawing back for the effect. "Such a bachelor's hall
as you are keeping!"

"We still have Willis, Caroline," remonstrates my grandfather, gravely.
"I have no fault to find with her housekeeping."

"Of course not, father; men never notice," Aunt Caroline replies in an
aggrieved tone. And when Willis herself comes in, auguring no good from
this visit, my aunt gives her the tips of her fingers. And I imagine I
see a spark fly between them.

As for Grafton, he was more than willing to let bygones be bygones
between his father and himself. Aunt Caroline said with feeling that
Dr. Hilliard's death was a blessing, after all, since it brought a
long-separated father and son together once more. Grafton had been
misjudged and ill-used, and he called Heaven to witness that the quarrel
had never been of his seeking,--a statement which Mr. Carvel was at no
pains to prove perjury. How attentive was Mr. Grafton to his father's
every want. He read his Gazette to him of a Thursday, though the old
gentleman's eyes are as good as ever. If Mr. Carvel walks out of an
evening, Grafton's arm is ever ready, and my uncle and his worthy lady
are eager to take a hand at cards before supper. "Philip, my dear," says
my aunt, "thy grandfather's slippers," or, "Philip, my love, thy
grandfather's hat and cane." But it is plain that Master Philip has not
been brought up to wait on his elders. He is curled with a novel in his
grandfather's easy chair by the window. "There is Dio, mamma, who has
naught to do but serve grandpapa," says he, and gives a pull at the cord
over his head which rings the bell about the servants' ears in the hall
below. And Dio, the whites of his eyes showing, comes running into the
room.

"It is nothing, Diomedes," says Mr. Carvel. "Master Philip will fetch
what I need.". Master Philip's papa and mamma stare at each other in a
surprise mingled with no little alarm, Master Philip being to all
appearances intent upon his book.

"Philip," says my grandfather, gently. I had more than once heard him
speak thus, and well knew what was coming.

"Sir," replies my cousin, without looking up. "Follow me, sir," said Mr.
Carvel, in a voice so different that Philip drops his book. They went u