"Ah! there it is just as it was," he was continually exclaiming. "There's my old sock-shop--_soake_, a local term for baking, is the better spelling. I spent money enough there, so perhaps they will remember me; so we will have a look in there by-and-by. Ah! there's the Christopher too, where we will go and dine. I dare say Lindsay will ask us; but I must be back in town to-night, and it would delay me to accept his invitation, and perhaps we may fall in with some acquaintance whom you may like to ask to dine with us." The Christopher was an hotel, Reginald found, much patronised by the boys and their friends. Mr Lindsay was in school, but Mrs Lindsay was at home, and received them very kindly. Reginald thought her a very nice person, and so she was, and contributed much, as a lady always can if she sets the right way about it, to make the house thoroughly comfortable and pleasant to its inmates. She told Reginald that his room was ready for him. How proud he felt to find that he was to have one entirely to himself! His things were at once taken up to it, and he begged the Squire to come up and have a look at it. It was not very large; but the walls were neatly papered, and it looked perfectly clean. Neither was the furniture of a grand description. There was a bedstead, which, when turned up, looked like a cupboard, and a sideboard of painted deal, a small oak chest of drawers, or rather a bureau, in the upper part of which cups and saucers, and plates, and a metal teapot, and a few knives and forks and a muffin-dish, were arranged, and there was a deal table covered with a red cloth, and two rather hard horsehair-bottomed chairs. "Here we are, sir," said Reginald, as the maidservant with considerable discretion retired, that the young gentleman might look about him. "Sit down and make yourself at home; I feel so already. The place has capabilities, and I hope that the next time you pay me a visit, you will find that I have taken advantage of them. I will get some pictures, and hang them up, and some pegs for my hats find fishing-rods, and hooks for my bats, and then a Dutch oven, and a frying-pan, and a better kettle than that will be useful in winter." "Perhaps you will not object to an arm-chair or a sofa," observed the Squire. "An arm-chair, certainly," answered Reginald, "thank you; but with regard to a sofa, they are all very well for women. I think, however, that if a fellow's legs ache, he may put them up on another chair, and if he has got an arm-chair to lean back in, he will do very well." "You are right, Reginald; I hate luxurious habits," said the Squire. "Do not give way to them. They are not so bad in themselves as in consequence of what they lead to--self-indulgence and indolence: this is the vice of the present day. But come along, we have plenty to do."