“Hoop and book—­book and hoop!  Oh yes.  Good boy, very good boy,” said Abel, laughing.  “I should think it was a portrait of the young Dr. Peewee—­the wee Peewee, Miss Hope,” said the audacious youth, sliding, as it were, unconsciously and naturally into greater familiarity.  “Ah!  I know you know all his sermons by heart, for you never look away from him.  What on earth are they all about?”

What a contrast to Gabriel’s awkward silence of the moment before!  Such a handsome face! such a musical voice!

In the midst of it all Hiram was heard remonstrating outside: 

“Don’t, Sir, don’t!  You’ll—­you’ll—­something will happen, Sir.”

There was a moment’s scuffling and trampling, and Christopher Burt, restrained by Hiram, burst into the room.  The old man was white with wrath.  He had his cane in one hand, and Hiram held the other hand and arm.

He had come in from the garden, and as he stopped in the dining-room to take a little trip to the West Indies, he had heard voices in the drawing-room.  Summoning Hiram to know if they were visitors, he had learned the awful truth which apprised him that his Hesperidian wall was down, and that the robbers at that very moment might be shaking his precious fruit from the boughs.  To be sure he had himself left the gate open.  Do you think, then, it helps a man’s temper to be as furious with himself as with other people?  He burst into the room.

There stood Hope:  Abel at her side, in the merry midst of his talk, with his sketch in his hand, his port-folio under his arm, and his finger pointed toward the portrait; Gabriel, at a little distance, confounded and abashed by an acquaintance between Hope and Abel of which he had no previous suspicion.  The poor boy! forgotten by Hope, and purposely trampled down by the eager talk of Abel.

“Hope, go up stairs!” shouted the old gentleman.  “And what are you doing in my house, you scamps?”

He lifted his cane as he came toward them.  “I knew all this fighting business yesterday was a conspiracy—­a swindling cheat to get into this house!  I’ve a mind to break your impudent bones!”

“Why, Sir,” said Abel, “you gave me leave to come here and sketch.”

“Did I give you leave to come into my parlor and bring boys with you, Sir, and take up the time of my grand-daughter?  Hope, I say, go up stairs!”

“I only thought, Sir—­” began Abel.

“Now, in Heaven’s name, don’t make me angry, Sir!” burst in the old gentleman, almost foaming at the mouth.  “Why should you think, Sir?  What business have you to think, Sir?  You’re a boy, Sir—­a school-boy, Sir!  Are you going to dispute with me in my own house?  I take back my permission.  Go, both of you! and never let me see your faces again!”

The old man stood pointing with his cane toward the door.

“Go, both of you!” repeated he, fiercely.  It was impossible to resist; and Abel and Gabriel moved slowly toward the door.  The former was furious at finding himself doomed in company with Gabriel.  But he betrayed nothing.  He was preternaturally calm.  Hope, dismayed and pale, stood looking on, but saying nothing.  Gabriel went quietly out of the room.  Abel turned to the door, and bowed gravely to Hope.