Walter Lodloe set out to go to his work, and on his way to the little garden at the foot of the staircase which led to his room in the tower he saw the Greek scholar sitting on a bench outside his summer-house smoking a large cigar.

“Good morning, sir,” said Mr. Tippengray; “do you smoke?”

The tone of these words implied not only a question but an invitation, in case the young man did smoke, to sit down on that bench and do it.  Lodloe understood the force of the remark, and, drawing out a cigar, took a seat by Mr. Tippengray.

“Before I go to my work,” said the latter, “it is my habit to sit here and enjoy the scenery and a few puffs.  I suppose when you come to a place like this you throw work to the winds.”

“Oh, no!” said Lodloe; “I am a literary man, and I came here to write.”

“Very glad to hear it,” said the other; “very glad that that tower room is to have the right sort of occupant.  If I had not this summer-house, I should want that room; but I am afraid, however, if I had it, I should look out of the window a great deal and translate a very little.”

“What do you translate?” asked Lodloe, with interest.

“At present,” said Mr. Tippengray, “I am engaged in translating into Greek some of the standard works of our modern literature.  There is no knowing what may happen to our modern languages.  In the course of a few centuries they may become as useless to the readers of that day as the English of Chaucer is to the ordinary reader of our time; but Greek will stand, sir, and the sooner we get the good things of the present day into solid Greek the better it will be for them and the literature of the future.”

“What work are you translating?” asked Lodloe.

“I am now at work on the ‘Pickwick Papers,’” said the scholar, “and I assure you that it is not an easy job.  When I get through with it I shall translate it back into English, after the fashion of Sir William Jones ­the only way to do that sort of thing.  Same as a telegraphic message ­if it isn’t repeated, you can’t depend on it.  If I then find that my English is like that of Dickens, I shall feel greatly encouraged, and probably shall take up the works of Thackeray.”

Walter Lodloe was somewhat stunned at this announcement, and he involuntarily glanced at the gray streaks in the locks of the Greek scholar.  The latter perceived the glance, and, knocking the ashes from his cigar, remarked: 

“Did you ever notice, sir, that an ordinary robin is perfectly aware that while squirrels and cats are able to ascend the perpendicular trunk of a tree, they cannot climb the painted pillar of a piazza; and consequently it is perfectly safe to build a nest at the top of such a pillar?”

Lodloe had noticed this, and a good many other intelligent traits of animals, and the two conversed on this interesting subject until the sun came round to the bench on which they were sitting, when they moved to a shady spot and continued the conversation.

At last Lodloe arose.  “It must be nearly dinnertime,” said he.  “I think I shall take a walk this afternoon, and see some of the country.”

“You ought to do it,” said Mr. Tippengray.  “It is a beautiful country.  If you like I will go with you.  I’m not a bad guide; I know every road, path, and short cut.”

Walter Lodloe expressed his satisfaction at the proposed companionship, and suggested that the first walk be to the village of Lethbury, peeping up among the trees in the distance.

“Lethbury!” exclaimed the Greek scholar.  “Well, sir, if it’s all the same to you, I prefer walking in any direction to that of Lethbury.  It’s a good enough place, but to-day I don’t feel drawn to it.”

“Very good,” said Lodloe; “we will walk anywhere but in the direction of Lethbury.”

About half an hour afterward, Mrs. Petter, having finished carving a pair of fowls, paused for a moment’s rest in serving the little company, and looked out of the dining-room window.

“Upon my word!” she exclaimed, “this is too bad.  When other boarders came, I thought Mr. Tippengray would begin to behave like other Christians, and come to his meals at the proper time.  At supper last night and breakfast this morning he was at the table as soon as anybody, and I was beginning to feel real heartened up, as if things were going to run on regular and proper.  But now look at that?  Isn’t that enough to make a housekeeper give up in despair?”

Mrs. Cristie, Lodloe, and Mr. Petter all looked out of the window, and beheld the Greek scholar engaged in pushing the baby carriage backward and forward under the shade of a large tree; while, on a seat near by, the maid Ida sat reading a book.  Now passing nearer, Mr. Tippengray stopped, and with sparkling eyes spoke to her.  Then she looked up, and with sparkling eyes answered him.  Then together, with sparkling eyes, they conversed for a few minutes, evidently about the book.  After a few more turns of the carriage Mr. Tippengray returned to the maid; the sparkling eyes were raised again from the book, and the scene was repeated.

“He has lent her a book,” said Mrs. Cristie.  “She did not take that one out with her.”

“There’s a time for books, and there’s a time for meals,” said Mrs. Petter.  “Why didn’t he keep his book until he had eaten his dinner?”

“I think Mr. Tippengray must be something of a philosopher,” said Lodloe, “and that he prefers to take his books to a pretty maid when other people are at dinner.”

“My wife does not altogether understand the ways of scholars,” said Mr. Petter.  “A gentleman giving most of his time to Greek cannot be expected to give much of his mind to the passage of modern times.”

“If he gives some of his time to the passage of a good dinner into cold victuals it would help his dyspepsia.  But I suppose he will come when he is ready, and all I have to say is that I would like to see Calthea Rose if she could catch sight of them this minute.”

Mr. Petter sat at the end of the table where he had a view of his flocks and his herds in the pasture below.

“Well,” said he, “if that estimable young woman wants to catch a sight of them, all she has to do is to step along lively, for at this present moment she is walking over the field-path straight to this house, and what is more, she is wearing her bonnet and carrying a parasol.”

“Bonnet and parasol!” ejaculated Mrs. Petter.  “Fire in the mountains, run, boys, run!  Debby, step out as quick as you can to Mr. Tippengray, and you needn’t say anything but just ask if Miss Calthea Rose told him she was coming to dinner to-day, and tell him she’s coming over the field.”

In about one minute the Greek scholar was in his place at the table and beginning his meal.

“Now, Mr. Tippengray,” said Mrs. Petter, “I don’t suppose you feel any coals of fire on your head at this present moment.”

“Madame,” said the scholar, “did you ever notice that when squirrels strip the bark from the limbs of trees they are very apt to despoil those branches which project in such a manner as to interfere with a view?”

“No, I didn’t,” said Mrs. Petter; “and I don’t believe they do it, either.  Debby, put a knife, fork, and napkin for Calthea Rose.  If she is coming to dinner it is just as well to let her think that nobody forgot to bring the message she sent.  She never comes to meals without sending word beforehand.”

But Miss Calthea had not come to dinner.  She sent word by Debby, who met her at the front door, that she had had her dinner, and that she would wait for the family on the piazza.

“Bonnet and parasol,” said Mrs. Petter.  “She has come to make a call, and it’s on you, Mrs. Cristie.  Don’t eat too fast, Mr. Tippengray; she’s good for the rest of the afternoon.”