Returning, I discover I have acquired a home interest. I see an enclosed balcony greenhouse, that line the fronts of the buildings, filled with ferns and foliage, new to me, that the sun is marvelously unfolding. They seem to grow up from the ground that must be far beneath the snow, and clinging to the ice-block wall, do not wither, for an enamel surface on the walls prevents. I then perceive why the late deep snow has spared them, snow that has been let below in covered trenches. Charley is going to pompously interview me. “You are not so dreadfully horrified, I see. There are, you see, different grades of parties. At this you were intellectually amused and society edified. I wonder this people do not drink. I must teach them the thickening of wine blood,” slightly wavering. “Thickening of wine-tongue and brain; how did any human being ever adopt it? I earnestly believe it was water and not wine that Jesus recommended. (That has been mistakenly translated.) That being plain God’s design.” I speak prophetically. “Dear,” he says, “you are right; I will let the people here be temperate; thus, I believe, more enjoyable.” Then coming close to me he says: “I was at the party to protect you in safety of ease, you know, so give me that due for your unrestrained mirth.” He is so autocratic in his manly assertions I become slightly overawed, when Show Off, who has had no lesson of him to regard his dignity, comes up and snaps his ear playfully. The fire darts from his eye, but I quickly make peace, using his own words: “You see, it is all right; do not be odd.” Thus quickly, everywhere, wrath arises innocently, to burn often in high flame—to indite some deed of evil intent. Seeing Charley still cross, I converse with Show Off—ask him where my father is, that I have missed these three days. “Has he found your father’s room? and is he quite happy?” “Quite. You will never get him again,” meaning that I am substituted. This talk, though rather un-English in phrase, is so intentionally jolly, I become quite familiar, so ask: “Dear Show Off, why did the sweet Aunt Robet never get married?” “She is going to be, when her lover comes down out of the sky.” This mysterious news sets Charley off into a roar of laughter, so I proceed: “What does he do in the sky? ride about on a star?” “Yes; and fishes below with a line for pastime.” I look warily each side of me. “When is he coming down?” “When the signs are right. We expected him at the Outing; since then we are unhappy.” In this lovable manner does he couple himself with his relative’s heart, who now approaches, and his snap is repeated upon her glowing cheek. But she, as Charley, gets cross, and he comes back to me. I suddenly miss Saucy, to see her flaxen hair dangling out of his sleeve, and know that it is she, in childish fashion, who had done the snapping to our disconcertment.