He hastily lighted a big lamp, and then a deep 'Oh!' broke from the children. For the walls were not white, they were all of mother-of-pearl, and here and there all over the walls round pearls shone with a starry, milky radiance. 'How radishing!' said Mabel in a whisper. 'I always said he wasn't a miser. He's a magician.' 'What a lovely, lovely room!' sighed Phyllis. 'What's it made of?' asked Guy downrightly. 'Oyster-shells,' said Sir Christopher, 'and pearl beads.' And it was. 'Oh!' said Mabel gaily, 'then that's what you go prowling about in dirty gutters for?' 'Don't be rude, Mab dear!' whispered Phyllis. But the old gentleman did not seem to mind. He just said, 'Yes, that's it,' in an absent sort of way. He seemed to be thinking about something else. Then he said, 'The Christmas-tree.' The children had forgotten all about the Christmas-tree. When its seventy-two candles were lighted the pearly room shone and glimmered like a fairy palace in a dream. 'It's many a year since my little girl had such a Christmas-tree,' he said. 'I don't know how to thank you.' 'Seeing your pearly halls is worth all the time and money,' said Mabel heartily. And Phyllis added in polite haste: 'And you being pleased.' 'Would you like to see the black marble hall?' asked Sir Christopher. And, of course, they said, 'Yes, awfully.' So he led them into the room on the other side of the hall, and lighted a lamp. And the room was like a room of black marble, carved into little round knobs. 'How lovely!' said Phyllis. 'It's not lovely like the other,' said Mabel; 'but it's more serious, like when the organ plays in church.' 'Why,' said Guy suddenly, 'it's winkle-shells!' And it was. Hundreds and thousands of winkle-shells sorted into sizes and stuck on the walls in patterns, and then, it seemed, polished or varnished. 'Come,' said Sir Christopher, 'I'll show you the red-room.' As they turned to go a tall, white figure by the door seemed to come suddenly into the lamplight. It was covered with a sheet. 'Oh!' said all three, starting back, 'what's that?' 'That's my little girl,' he said. 'Is she trying to frighten us? Is she playing ghosts?' asked Guy. 'No,' he said; 'she never plays at ghosts. It isn't her really. That's only my fun. It's a statue really.' 'Aren't statues very dear?' asked Guy. 'Very,' said Sir Christopher--'very, very dear.' He led the way up the winding iron stair and showed them the red-room. Its walls were covered with bits of red lobster-shells, overlapping like a fish's scales or the plates of armour. 'How resplendid!' said Mabel; 'I believe you're a mighty magician.' 'No,' he said; 'at least--no, not exactly. There's only one more room.' The other room was a bedroom, quite dull and plain, with whitewashed walls and painted deal furniture.