"It does n't seem much like the manor with Ewart away and you invisible except at meals," he growled from the arm-chair he had placed just outside the sill of the office door. He begged me to leave the door open just a little way, enough to enable him to have speech with me--a privilege I granted, but reluctantly, for I was putting the books on the shelves and giving the task my whole attention. The last day of the week was with us, and Mr. Ewart was expected in a few hours. I stopped long enough, however, to peep at him through the inch-wide opening. He was drawing away at a cold pipe and looked wholly disconsolate. "A new version of Omar Khayyàm," I said. "'A pipe, you know ... and Thou Beside me, chatting in the wilderness.'" "I suppose you 'll let me in when Ewart comes." "I 've nothing to say about that; it is n't my den." "I was under the impression it was wholly yours, judging from your possession of it." "Now, no sarcasm, Jamie Macleod; work is work, and there 's been a lot to do in here--not but what I 've taken solid comfort in putting this room into shape." "Oh, yes, we have seen that; even Cale remarked to me the other night that he 'guessed' Mr. Ewart knew a good thing when he saw it, as he had a general furnisher and library assistant all in one, who was working for his interest about as hard as she could." "Good for Cale, he is a discerning person. But he seems to be following suit pretty closely along his lines." "I hear you 're to catalogue the books that are in the den." "That is my order." "Don't you want me to help you? Old French is n't so easy sometimes," he asked, coaxing. "Oh, no; I 've help enough in Mr. Ewart. He knows it a good deal better than you do." "'Sass'," was Jamie's sole reply, a word he had borrowed from Cale's vocabulary; he used it to characterize my attitude towards his acquirements. I worked on in silence till the books were housed; then I drew a long breath of satisfaction. "What's that sigh for?" was the demand from the other side of the door. "For a noble deed accomplished, my friend." "Humph!" "Now move away your chair, I 'm coming out." "Come on." There was no movement of the chair, and, to punish him, I locked the door on the inside and went out through the kitchen up to my room. I recall that afternoon: the heavy first-of-December skies; the gray-black look on the hemlocks; the faded trunks of the lindens; the dullness of the unreflecting snow; the intermittent soughing of the wind in the pines. All without looked drear, jaded, almost lifeless; the cold was penetrating. I determined that all within should be bright with home cheer on the master's return. Did he not say I had made a home of the old manor? I recall dressing myself with unusual care and wishing I had some light-colored gown to help brighten the interior for him.