time.

There was no one in the hall, and I stepped out through the open door
to the porch beyond, and stood looking about me. The house was built
in the midst of a grove of beautiful old trees, some distance back
from the road, of which I could catch only a glimpse. It was a small
house, a story and a half in height, evidently designed only as a
summer residence.

"Good morning, sir," said a voice behind me, and I turned to find a
pleasant-faced, grey-haired woman standing in the doorway.

"Good morning," I responded. "I suppose you are Mrs. Hargis?"

"Yes, sir; and your breakfast's ready."

"Has Mr. Godfrey gone?"

"Yes, sir; he left about an hour ago. He was afraid his machine would
waken you."

"It didn't," I said, as I followed her back along the hall. "Nothing
short of an earthquake would have wakened me. Ah, this is fine!"

She had shown me into a pleasant room, where a little table was set
near an open window. It made quite a picture, with its white cloth and
shining dishes and plate of yellow butter, and bowl of crimson
berries, and--but I didn't linger to admire it. I don't know when I
have enjoyed breakfast so much. Mrs. Hargis, after bringing in the
eggs and bacon and setting a little pot of steaming coffee at my