It was a cold day of early spring. I had been down the lanes and brought in five tiny starved primroses with short stems, for which Betsey scolded me soundly, telling me that the first brood of chickens was always the same in number as the first primroses brought into the house. I eked them out with moss in a saucer, and then, how well I remember the foolish, weary feeling that I wished something would happen to break the quiet. We were out of the reach of new books, and the two magazines we took in would not be due for ten long days. I did not feel sensible or energetic enough to turn to one of the standard well-bound volumes that had been Charlie's school prizes, and at the moment I hated my needlework, both steady sewing and fancy work. It was the same with my piano. I had no new fashionable music, and I was in a mood to disdain what was good and classical. So, as the twilight came on, I sat drearily by the fire, fondling the cat--yes, this same black cat--and thinking that my life at the ladies' college had been a good deal livelier, and that if I had given it up for the sake of my brother's society, I had very little of that. The hunt had gone by last week--what a treat it would be if some one would meet with a little accident and be carried in here! Behold, I heard a step at the back door, and the loud call of 'Kitty! Kitty!' There stood Charlie, as usual covered with clay nearly up to the top of his gaiters--clay either pale yellow, or horrid light blue, according to the direction of his walk. He was beginning frantically to unbutton them, and as he beheld me he cried out, 'Kitty! he's coming!' and before I could say, 'Who?' he went on, 'Old Newton. His fly is working through the mud in Draggletail Lane. The driver hailed me to ask the way, and when I saw who it was, I cut across to give you notice. He'll stay the night to a dead certainty.' What was to be done? A wild hope seized me that, at sight of the place, he would retain his fly and go off elsewhere for better accommodation. Only, where would he find it? The nearest town, where the only railway station then was, was eight miles off, and he was not likely to plod back thither again, and the village inn, five miles away, was little more than a pot-house. No, we must rise to the occasion, Betsey and I, while Charlie was making himself respectable to receive the guest. Where was he to sleep? What was he to eat? A daintily fed, rather hypochrondriacal old bachelor, who seldom stirred out of his comfortable house in London. What a guest for us! The council was held while the gaiters were being unbuttoned. He must have my room, and I would sleep with Betsey. As to food, it was impossible to send to the butcher; and even if I could have sacrificed my precious Dorking fowls, there would have been scant time to prepare them.