Inside, it was finished up according to Mr. Thornton's own taste, which was of the best. He had pleased himself by fitting up one room in the style of the olden time. The modern wall-paper adorned with morning glory vines, and the fern leaf carpet chimed in with the idea sufficiently well. He procured a wide lounge covered with chintz, two high-backed old rocking-chairs, and several others of antique patterns and splint-bottoms. From an old aunt's possessions, he begged a tall secretary and bookcase, curiously carved, a table with claw feet, and a stand with three legs. He put tall candlesticks of silver on the high mantel, brass andirons in the broad fireplace, and when he had a veritable hickory log snapping on them, the firelight dancing on the wall, and gayly flowered damask curtains at the windows, he delightedly pronounced the room as much like his great-grandmother's as he could make it. To-night he dropped the curtains, drew the arm-chair to the fire, and settled himself to the solving of a problem. He often came to this room when he wanted to be specially quiet; indeed, so fascinated was he by it that he would have enjoyed taking up his abode there. The old lady for whom all this comfort was intended, had not yet appeared. He had been quietly waiting and watching, certain that in due time his offering would be needed, and now he felt assured the time had come. But how to bestow it on Mr. Winthrop without bringing him under a sense of obligation that would be embarrassing whenever they met, for he had no idea of dropping the acquaintance just begun! His sympathies had a wide scope, and yet his friends were few and choice; he hoped to number this pure-hearted, clear-headed old man among them, and, mayhap, this maiden of heroic deeds. Open fires must be favorable to untying hard knots, for after knitting his brows for a time he seemed to have arrived at some conclusion that pleased himself, at least, and he turned to his table and wrote a letter, sealed and addressed it, then sank back in his chair with the air of one who has dispatched his business and is free to dream dreams of firelight. The letter was not the only result of the cogitations. It was but a day or two after that when workmen were busy with shovel and saw and hammer engaged in building a greenhouse. The season favored the plan; the frosts not having penetrated the ground yet. Mr. Thornton was there continually, directing, watching with as much interest as if he contemplated taking up the vocation of a florist at once.