The old man led the way into a large, square room, with paneled walls, polished floor, heavy walnut chairs and tables, and a broad, open fireplace, with brass andirons, on which was piled about an eighth of a cord of blazing hickory logs. Around this was a brass fender; above it, on the wall, a handsome carved oak mantelpiece surmounted by a broad mirror, and down before it on the floor a rich old Turkey rug. Two large armchairs stood in each chimney corner. “Now, my dears, and you, ma’am, make yourselves comfortable and be quite at home. Supper will be ready in a few minutes,” said Mr. Cleve as he sank into one of the armchairs. Then Palma saw how fragile he really was—his transparent face was as white as ashes, his thin hair and thin whiskers were like floss of silver, his hands were the longest, thinnest, fairest hands ever seen. He was clothed in a dark blue dressing-gown which he folded double over his knees, and the bald spot on the top of his head was covered with a much worn old blue velvet skullcap. His aspect suggested frost, cobweb, chrysalis. Only his deep-set, soft brown eyes shone warm and bright with the fire of life, light and love from the true soul, so slightly held by the fragile frame and almost ready to fly. CHAPTER XXX THE MOUNTAIN HOME Mr. Cleve stretched out his hand and pulled the bell. An elderly colored woman came in. “Serve the supper in here, Polly. The dining-room is too cold, I think,” he said. “Yes, marster,” the woman replied and went out. “It is in the northwest angle of the house, and has four large windows—two north and two west—which shake and rattle, and let in the wind when it blows, as it does now, from that quarter; and also sends the smoke in volumes down the chimney. So I think it will be more comfortable for us to eat supper here,” Mr. Cleve explained as he bent forward and spread his thin, fair hands to the fire. “I am sure there could not be a pleasanter room than this,” said Palma from her low rocker as she basked in the warm glow. “Ah-h-h!” added Stuart with a sigh of deep satisfaction as he rubbed his hands. The woman soon came back with faded felt crumb cloth in her arms, which she went on to lay down on the shining oak floor. She was followed by a colored girl with the table damask in her hands. Between them they set the table, adorning it with rare old china and antique silver. And then a good supper, in honor of the new arrivals, as well as in consideration of the weary and hungry travelers. There was tea, coffee and chocolate, milk, cream and butter, rolls, waffles and cakes, ham, poultry and game, eggs, cheese and fruit—variety, without superabundance. Mr. Cleve arose and invited his relatives to take their seats, and himself led Palma to the head of the table, saying pleasantly: