This young woman was not a great talker; but whenever the absent needed a defender, the suffering a friend, or the down-trodden a champion, that gentle voice was not wanting. “I am sure nothing could surpass the gentleness of his manner towards little Laura.” “Very true,” rejoined Mary; “but have you not noticed the expression of his eyes at times, when he is pacing to and fro, as he did for some time yesterday, reviewing in his mind, I should judge, some event in his past life? Every now and then there would come into them a look so stern and bitter as to give his countenance an expression which might almost be called ferocious.” “Oh, Mr. Whacker, I think Mary’s imagination must be running away with her,” broke in Lucy. “Now let me tell you of an incident which all of us witnessed one day while you were absent. The day had been damp and raw; and just as Mr. Don Miff—I don’t wonder at your laughing,—was there ever such a name before? What was I saying? Ah! there came on one of those cold October rains just as the Don was going away. He had taken but a few steps when his attention was arrested by the whining of a little dog across the street. What kind of a dog did you say it was, Mrs. Carter?” “It was a Mexican dog, a wretched little thing, of a breed which is almost entirely destitute of hair. Our volunteers brought home some of them, as curiosities, on their return from the Mexican war. The one Lucy is speaking of is very old, and is, likely enough, the last representative of his species in the city.” “Well,” resumed Lucy, “the poor, little, naked creature was whining piteously in the rain, and pawing against that alley-gate over yonder by that large tree; and when this ferocious man, whom Mary thinks so terrible, saw him, he stopped, then moved on, then stopped again, and at last, seeing that the little thing had been shut out, he actually walked across the street and opened the gate for him!” “That was very sweet of my Don!” chimed in Alice. “Yes,” urged Lucy, with gentle warmth, “you girls may laugh, and you, Mr. Whacker, may smile—” “Upon my word—” “Oh, I saw you—but the ferocity of a man who is tender with children and kind to brutes is ferocity of a very mild form, and I—” “Speech! speech!” cried Alice, clapping her hands. And Lucy sank back in her chair, blushing at her own eloquence. “Order! order! ladies and gentlemen,” cried Alice, gravely tapping on the table with a spool. “Sister Rolfe, the convention would be pleased to hear from you, at this stage of the proceedings, a continuation of your very edifying observations touching the lord Don Miff’s exceedingly alarming eyes. Sister Rolfe has the floor—order! The chair must insist that the fat lady on the sofa come to order!”