“Looking over our books?” interrupted my grandfather, entering the room briskly, with a ruddy winter glow upon his fine face. “Yes; and I observe that you have a large and capital selection of French classics.” “Yes; I picked them up when I was abroad as a young man. You read French? Ah! Then this will be the place for you on rainy days when you cannot hunt. Charley, have you shown Mr. Smith the Hall?” “Not yet.” “No?” ejaculated my grandfather, with a surprise that was surprising, seeing that Charley had given him that identical answer on a hundred similar occasions previously. “Mr. Smith,” said he, walking toward the inner door, “we have a room here that we think rather unique in its way.” And he placed his hand upon the knob. “We call it ‘The Hall.’ Walk in!” And he opened wide the door, stepping back with the air of an artist withdrawing a curtain from a new production of his pencil. The Don advanced to the threshold of the room, and giving one glance within, turned to his host with a look of mingled admiration and surprise. The old gentleman, who was as transparent as glass, fairly beamed with gratification at observing the pleased astonishment of his guest. “Walk in, walk in,” said he, wreathed in smiles. “Be careful,” added he, laying hold of the Don’s arm, as the latter’s feet seemed disposed to fly from under him,—“the floor is as smooth as glass.” “So I perceive. Why, what on earth can you do with such a room in the country?” And the Don lifted his eyes to the very lofty ceiling. “That’s the question!” observed Mr. Whacker, giving Charley a knowing look. “One would say it was a ball-room,” said the Don, looking down upon the perfectly polished floor, in which their figures stood reflected as in a mirror. “It would do very well for that,” said the old gentleman. “I think it would puzzle you to find the joints in that floor,” he added, stooping down and running his thumb nail across a number of the very narrow planks. “You observe, the room is ceiled throughout with heart-pine,—no plastering anywhere. I used, as you see, the darker wood for the floor, and selected the lightest-colored planks for the ceiling; while I made the two shades alternate on the walls. You think so? Well, I think it ought to be, for I was several years collecting and selecting the lumber for this room,—not a plank that I did not inspect carefully. And so you think it would make a good ball-room? So it would, in fact. Thirty feet by twenty would give room for a goodly number of twinkling feet.” “I see a piano at the other end of the room.” “Yes,” said Mr. Whacker, leaning forward, his fingers interlaced behind his back, and his smiling eyes fixed upon the floor. He was giving the Don time,—he had not seen everything in the room. “What!” exclaimed the latter, suddenly, as his eyes chanced to stray into a corner of the room, which was rather dark with its closed blinds. “Is not that a violin-case standing in the corner?”