The garden was the delight of Uncle Geoffrey's heart. It was somewhat narrow, to match the house; but in the center of the lawn, there was a glorious mulberry tree, the joy of us children. Behind was a wonderful intricacy of slim, oddly-shaped flower-beds, intersected by miniature walks, where two people could with difficulty walk abreast; and beyond this lay a tolerable kitchen garden, where Deborah grew cabbages and all sorts of homely herbs, and where tiny pink roses and sturdy sweet-williams blossomed among the gooseberry bushes. On one side of the house were two roomy parlors, divided by folding doors. We never called them anything but parlors, for the shabby wainscoted walls and old-fashioned furniture forbade any similitude to the modern drawing-room. On the other side of the hall was Uncle Geoffrey's study--a somewhat grim, dingy apartment, with brown shelves full of ponderous tomes, a pipe-rack filled with fantastic pipes, deep old cupboards full of hetereogeneous rubbish, and wide easy-chairs that one could hardly lift, one of which was always occupied by Jumbles, Uncle Geoffrey's dog. Jumbles was a great favorite with us all. He was a solemn, wise-looking dog of the terrier breed, indeed, I believe Uncle Geoff called him a Dandy Dinmont--blue-gray in color, with a great head, and deep-set intelligent eyes. It was Uncle Geoffrey's opinion that Jumbles understood all one said to him. He would sit with his head slightly on one side, thumping his tail against the floor, with a sort of glimmer of fun in his eyes, as though he comprehended our conversation, and interposed a "Hear, hear!" and when he had had enough of it, and we were growing prosy, he would turn over on his back with an expression of abject weariness, as though canine reticence objected to human garrulity. Jumbles was a rare old philosopher--a sort of four-footed Diogenes. He was discerning in his friendships, somewhat aggressive and splenetic to his equals; intolerant of cats, whom he hunted like vermin, and rather disdainfully condescending to the small dogs of Milnthorpe. Jumbles always accompanied Uncle Geoffrey in his rounds. He used to take his place in the gig with undeviating punctuality; nothing induced him to desert his post when the night-bell rang. He would rouse up from his sleep, and go out in the coldest weather. We used to hear his deep bark under the window as they sallied out in the midnight gloom. The morning after we arrived, Allan and I made a tour of inspection through the house. There were only three rooms on the first floor--Uncle Geoffrey's, with its huge four-post bed; a large front room, that we both decided would just do for mother; and a smaller one at the back, that, after a few minutes' deliberation, I allotted to Carrie.