“Yes, one of the oldest in Allington,” Grey replied, and instantly Archie roused from his usual apathetic State and repeated: 

“Allington?  Did you say Allington, in Massachusetts?”

“Yes,” Grey replied.  “Allington, in Massachusetts; about forty miles or so from Boston.  Do you know the place?”

“My aunt lives there—­the woman for whom Bessie was named, Miss Betsey McPherson.  Do you know her?”

“Yes, I used to know her well when I was so often in Allington before my grandfather died,” Grey replied, and Neil said to him: 

“What manner of woman is she?  Something of a shrew, I fancy.  I saw her once when I was a boy, and she boxed my ears because I called her old Bet Buttermilk, and she said that I and all the English were fools, because I asked her if there were any wildcats in the woods behind her house.”

“Served you right,” Grey said, laughingly, and then continued; “She is rather eccentric, I believe, but highly respected in town.  My Aunt Lucy is very fond of her.  Did you ever see her?” and he turned to Bessie, who replied: 

“I saw her once at Aberystwyth, when I was a child; and she afterwards sent me this turquois ring, the only bit of jewelry I own,” and Bessie held to the light her hand on which shone the ring Daisy had unwillingly given up to her on the occasion of her last visit to Stoneleigh.

For a long time they sat before the fire talking of America and the places Grey had visited in Europe, and it was rather late when the party finally retired for the night, Neil going to his warm, comfortable room facing the south, and Grey to his cheerless one facing the north, with only the cold and the damp, and the rats for his companions, if we except the bag of hot water he found in his bed, on which Dorothy had put woolen sheets and which she had warmed thoroughly with her big warming-pan.

“This is not very jolly, but I am glad I am here instead of Bessie,” Grey thought, and undressing himself more quickly than he had ever undressed before, he plunged into the bed which was really warm and comfortable, and was soon wrapped in the deep sleep which comes to perfect health and a good conscience.

CHAPTER XI.

CHRISTMAS DAY.

When Grey awoke the next morning there was a little pile of snow on the foot of his bed, which stood near a window, and more on the hearth, which had sifted down the chimney, while the wind was, if possible, blowing harder than on the previous night.

“Whew!” Grey said, as he rubbed his cold nose, “I believe this beats Allington!  How shall I ever get myself together?”

Just then Anthony came in with jugs of hot water and a huge soapstone on which he said the young man was to stand while he dressed himself.

“Sharp weather this, even for Wales!” he began, as he lingered a little and put back the curtains to admit more light.