They were all about to sit down to dinner when they were interrupted by the sudden entrance of a little, elderly, dark-skinned man with snapping black eyes, a brisk manner, a quick step and a short tone. All the family started up. “‘Sich is life,’” said John. “Well-well-well!” the intruder exclaimed, running his words together in swift repetition. “Well-well-well! So here you are at last! So here you are at last!” “Yes, sir,” said John Palmer, rising and saluting the stranger who had taken him so much by surprise. “Yes, sir, we reached here all right. You are the agent of the property, I presume, sir—Mr. Comical?” “_Car_-michael, man! _Car_-michael! But what the deuce are you doing here in the grand hall? Grand hall—grand hall—grand hall! Eh-eh-eh?” quickly demanded the brisk little man. “Excuse me, sir. ‘Sich is life.’ We are doing no harm. We reached here last night too late to do anything more than to throw ourselves down here. This being the Sabbath day, we could not make a change without breaking the commandment; but to-morrow we will go into the quarters provided for us, if you will kindly direct us where they are,” said John. “I see! I see! I see! And meantime you are cooking your dinners on the very hearths where the old cavalier lords of the manor used only to roast their own shins! Well-well-well! I suppose it can’t be helped for to-day—to-day—to-day!” replied the nervous little old man with rapid reiteration. “You have likely had a long ride this morning, sir. Won’t you sit up and take some dinner?” inquired John politely. “I thank you! Yes-yes-yes! I believe I will! I believe I will!” said the agent frankly, taking the chair that one of the boys vacated for him. “That is my wife, sir,” said John, indicating the good woman at the head of the table. “Yes-yes-yes! So I should have supposed! I hope you are very well, ma’am!” exclaimed the quick visitor, and then, without waiting for an answer, he turned to his host, and pointing with his fork to Mrs. Whitlock, said: “And the other respectable old party, your mother-in-law? mother-in-law? mother-in-law?” “No, though she do lectur’ me to that extent, she might as well be,” laughed John as he resumed his place at the foot of the table and helped his guest to ham. “Well-well-well!” said the agent after he had taken the edge off his appetite with several slices of bread and ham. “Well-well! as your conscience will not permit you to move on Sunday, and as I can’t stay here till Monday, I’ll just indicate where you are to lodge yourself and family. It is in the rear of the manor-house. We call it The Red Wing.” “Yes, sir, I know exactly the place you mean. It is just under the shadow of the mountain and is built of a different colored stone from the rest of the house—a red stone.”