The master of this Eden was standing, at the moment when he first caught my eyes, holding up a bottle, scrutinizingly, between his face and the light, one of many of the same sort that a lad, in a long, white apron, was engaged in washing.

The odor of the various drugs and essences over which he presided formed an aromatic atmosphere singularly suggestive of incense, as did his costume, that of a high-priest of the temple; but, very soon discarding a gray-linen cape or talma, worn for the protection of his speckless coat, and tossing a bundle of corks rather disdainfully to his assistant, the head of the establishment came politely forward, standing on the other side of the stove, with clasped hands, expectantly.

“You will tell me your errand here when you are quite ready,” he said, kindly.  “Do rest and warm yourself first.  The stove has a narcotic tendency when one has just come out of cold like this!  The thermometer has fallen twenty degrees since noonday; but that is only half the trouble.  Hem!  This sleet and wind are beyond any former experience of mine at this season.”

I heard the words of the speaker as if bound in a dreadful dream, but they were clearly understood, and now I made an effort at utterance, but failed, until after repeated endeavors, to enunciate one word.  Yet I noted distinctly, and even with a nice discrimination of scrutiny, the red-haired and bright-eyed man, portly and somewhat pompous-looking, with his plump hands folded over his vest, who stood before me, looking pityingly down on my suffering face.

After a time I gathered up my forces sufficiently to inquire, being quite thawed and comforted by the reviving heat of the apartment, how far it might be to the house of Dr. Pemberton, who resided in the block of houses known as Kendrick’s Row, on Maple Street.

“It is nearly a square and a half, miss, by street measurement just now, as, on account of changes, this is impassable,” was the prompt reply.  “Scarcely half a square by the alley that runs from my back-door, after a short turn, straight through to Maple Street; and, if it is only question of a message, I can send Caleb, so that you may await the coming of the doctor in comfort, in this emporium.  He always uses his gig for night-visits, and will, no doubt, be happy to carry you home in his wolfskin.”

“Thanks—­there is no question of a medical visit.  I have very important business with him.  I must see him in his own house.  I will go without further delay.  But, perhaps”—­lingering a moment—­“you would be so good as to suffer Mr. Caleb to show me the short way you spoke of?  I shall not mind going through the alley at all.”

I rose prepared to depart, and glanced beseechingly at Caleb, who laid down his bottle uncorked, and folded his arms with an approving knightly bow, unperceived by his employer.