"What _is_ the matter now?" screamed Miss Kling, appearing at her door with the query. "Have you hurt yourself?" Nattie asked, as she went down to where the hero of the catastrophe sat on the bottom stair, ruefully rubbing his elbow, but who now picked up his hat and the fire-bucket, and rose to explain. "It's nothing--nothing at all, you know!" he said, looking upward, and bowing to the voices; "I caught my foot in the rug, and--" "Did you tear the rug?" here anxiously interrupted the listening Mrs. Simonson, suddenly appearing at the banisters; not that she felt for her lodger less, but for the rug more, a distinction arising from that constant struggle with the "ways and means." "Oh, no! I assure you, there was no damage done to the rug--or fire-bucket," the victim responded, reassuringly, and in perfect good faith. "Or myself," he added modestly, as if the latter was scarce worth speaking of. "I--I am used to it, you know," reverting to his usual expression in accidents of all descriptions. "I declare I don't know what you will do next!" muttered Mrs. Simonson, retreating to examine the rug. "I think you must be in love, Quimby!" giggled Celeste; an assertion that caused Miss Kling to give vent to a contemptuous "Humph" and awakened in its subject the most excruciating embarrassment. The poor fellow glanced at Nattie, blushed, perspired, and frantically clutching at the fire-bucket, stammered a protest,-- "Now really--I--now!--you are mistaken, you know!" "But people who are in love are always absent-minded," persisted Celeste, with another giggle. "So it is useless to--" But exactly what was useless did not appear, as at this point a stentorian voice, the voice of Miss Kling's "fine, sensible man," roared, "Enough!" At which, to Quimby's relief, Celeste, always in mortal fear of her father, hastily withdrew. Not so Miss Kling. She silently waited to see if Nattie and Quimby would go out together, and was rewarded by hearing the latter ask, as Nattie made a movement towards the door,-- "May I--might I be so bold as to--as to ask to be your escort?" "I should be pleased," Nattie answered, adding with a mischievous glance, but in a low tone, aware of the listening ears above,-- "That is, if you will consent to dispense with the fire-bucket!" Quimby started, and dropping the article in question, as if it had suddenly turned red-hot, ejaculated,-- "Bless my soul! really I--I beg pardon, I am sure!" then bashfully offering his arm, they went out, while Miss Kling balefully shook her head. "So, Celeste will insist upon it that you are in love, because you tripped and fell down stairs!" Nattie said, by way of opening a conversation as they walked along--a remark that did not tend to lessen his evident disquietude. And having now no fire-bucket, he clutched at his necktie, twirling it all awry, not at all to the improvement of his personal appearance, as he replied,--