Charley gave a comic glance at his burden, when he was presented; but his bow was respectful, and as graceful as the case admitted. Ida hardly saw him until the second supper was served; Carry insisting that she should occupy her accustomed seat, and go through the form of eating. Elle petitioned for a chair by her, and the three brothers were together on the opposite side of the table. They were an interesting study. John, with his strong, dark, yet singularly pleasing physiognomy, was the handsomest; but his precedence in age, and perhaps rougher experiences in life, had imparted an air of command, which, while it became him well, deterred one from familiarity. Charley was so unlike him, that the supposition of their being of the same lineage, seemed absurd. His hair and complexion were many shades lighter, and the features cast in a different mould, his eyes the only fine ones in the set. He was not so tall, by half a head, and more slightly built. Arthur was the connecting link; with John's height, and Charley's figure; the perfect mouth and teeth of one; the brown eyes of the other; and hair and skin a _juste milieu_ between the two. Ida's attention was most frequently directed to the new-comer. She thought him more homely than his brothers; and it certainly was not a family resemblance that troubled her with the notion, that she had seen him somewhere not very long ago--when, she could not say--except that his expression was not the same as now. Heedless of her observation, he rattled on; doing ample justice to the edibles, in some unaccountable manner; his gastronomical and vocal apparatus never interfering; yet withal, he was an excellent listener; and allowed the rest of the party to say whatever they wished. "He would be worth his weight in gold to a comic almanac-maker," thought Ida, as he dashed off caricature and anecdote, conveying a character in an epithet, and setting the table in a roar, by a grimace or inflection. His pictures, however, were coloured by his gay mood; there were no frowning portraits, and their smiles were all broad grins. "You have not learned to love buttermilk, yet, Charley?" said Carry, as John called for a second tumbler of the cooling beverage. "Can't say that I have. Did I write you an account of my begging expedition?" "Begging! no--tell me now."