“Love you a little, godfather! Oh! just open your cloak and take me inside next to you. Oh! just unbutton your coat, and button me up inside of that, too. I love you well enough to let you swallow me, godfather,” exclaimed the imp, nestling close to him with her arms about his neck, her head tucked into his bosom, and wriggling with delight. “Yes, you do love me—disinterestedly—poor, forsaken child! And you are the only thing on earth that does love me,” said he, folding both arms closely about her. All this took place in a very few minutes, while Miss Joe was rising in her corner, setting aside her wheel, smoothing down her apron, and coming forward to meet her visitor, saying: “Nettie, jump down this moment, and don’t trouble the ‘gentleman.’” But Nettie clung tighter, and General Garnet held her closer. “General Garnet, sir, it is an unexpected honor to see you here. Pray, come to the fire and sit down. Hugh, shut that door, and set a chair for the general, and throw more brush on the fire. General, do sit down, and don’t let that wild child bother you so. Come down, Nettie, I say.” “I sha’n’t, granny!” “Never mind, Miss Joe, I like to have her here,” said General Garnet, throwing off his cloak, seating himself in a large armchair at the fire, and seating Nettie on his knee. “Well, my old friend, how does fate use you nowadays?” he finally asked of the old lady. “Oh, sir, very well, indeed; fust-rate, I thank you,” answered proud Miss Joe. “I am very glad to hear it,” commented her visitor, with one arm still clasping Nettie, while he glanced sarcastically around the room. Miss Joe did not perceive the irony, but she saw his suit of deep mourning, and suddenly recollected that she might be expected to say something appropriate to the occasion. So, composing her countenance to funereal solemnity, she looked at General Garnet, and said, very seriously, the following commonplace: “We have heard of your heavy bereavement in the sudden death of your wife, General Garnet, and we are very much grieved. But you know, sir, death is the common lot of all. It is the only condition we can—can have life on. It’s just as nat’ral as being born. And so, sir, I hope you’ll be able to bear up under your fate like a philosopher. Besides which, it is the will of God. And being just so, I trust you will have grace to resign yourself to your trials like a Christian.” “I trust so, I trust so,” replied General Garnet, speaking quickly; then he added: “It augments my sorrow very much, however, to remember that it was the misconduct of the daughter that precipitated the fate of the mother.” “Good Heaven! you don’t say so, sir!” “Yes! you may as well know the truth, my good old friend. Elsie threw herself entirely away; eloped and went off to the West with that worthless beggar, Hardcastle,” said he, looking around to see the effect of his words.