” Horace, the manservant, transformed now into the semblance of a correctly garbed waiter, threw open the door. It developed into a sort of secret and private bad manners. At the back of the house, on a bank, rose an old-fashioned terrace-garden, full of apple-trees and other fruittrees in blossom, and lively with the delicious verdure of early spring. ’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Miss Froxfield frostily. " "And I trust you will never have occasion to weep again, my poor soul," replied Wood, setting down his lantern, and brushing a few drops from his eyes, "unless it be tears of joy. ” She said fretfully. ” 174 < 21 > THANKSGIVING She padded softly up the old stairs, exhausted and elated.
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