“Father has sent the carriage for you, sir—that is all. My name is Henry—he’s Richard. St. Gerald, you know, is in Washington. He is in Congress, you know, and has made a great speech—father says, one of the greatest speeches that has been made since”— “_Oh, sho!_ He’s a great deal older than we are, Mr. Sutherland; and he’s only our half-brother besides. _You_ don’t know every thing,” said the younger boy Richard, addressing the last phrase, accompanied by a punch in the side, to his brother. “I am happy to meet you, Henry—how do you do, Richard?” said Mr. Sutherland, giving a hand to each of the boys. “And so,” he added, smiling to himself, and at them, “this new star of the Capitol—this eloquent and admired St. Gerald Ashley—is a relative of yours?” “Our brother,” said Henry. “Our _half_-brother,” amended Richard, favouring his senior with another malicious punch in the ribs. Hereupon another scuffle ensued, which Mr. Sutherland ended, by saying— “Come—shall we go on to Ashley Hall, or will you take supper first, here, with me?” “Take supper first here, with you,” assented the boys, who could have been tempted by nothing but the novelty to forego their father’s sumptuous supper-table for this poor tavern meal. “It was kind to come and meet me. But how did you guess that I should arrive _this_ evening?” “Oh, we did not guess. Father thought it about time you should come, and he sent the carriage, and intended to send it every stage-day until you _did_ come, or write, or something. Father would have come himself, only he staid home to read St. Gerald’s great speech.” “St. Gerald” was evidently the hero of Henry’s worship. While they supped, their horses were fed and watered. And, half an hour afterwards, Mr. Sutherland and his pupils entered the carriage, and were driven to Ashley Hall. It was quite dark when the carriage drew up before the door of a large, rumbling old building of red sandstone, scarcely to be distinguished from the irregular masses of rock rising behind and around it. A bright light illumined the hall, where the travellers were received by a negro man in waiting, who would have conducted them into a drawing-room on the left, but that Henry and Richard, breaking violently forward, threw open the door upon the right, exclaiming— “Father is here. He is come, father! We found him at the village.” A genial wood fire blazed and crackled in the wide, old-fashioned chimney of this room; and near it, in an easy chair, beside a candlestand, sat an old gentleman, engaged in reading a newspaper. No whit disturbed by the boisterous onslaught of the boys, he calmly laid aside his paper and stood up—an undersized, attenuated old man, with a thin, flushed face, and a head of hair as white and soft as cotton wool. He stood, slightly trembling with partial paralysis, but received Mr. Sutherland with the fine courtesy of an old-school gentleman. The boys hurried about their own business.