“Hi, there, you witch! who is that you are kissing, and then standing off to see the effect?”

There was no mistake this time; so, impelled by love, shame, and fear of “that horrid man,” she fled, half sobbing, to his arms.

“No, he isn’t a ‘horrid man,’ either,” whispered her brother, laughing.  “He is a classmate of mine.  Why, Stanhope, how are you?  I did not know that you and my sister were so well acquainted,” he added, half banteringly and half curiously, for as yet he did not fully understand the scene.

The hall-lamp, shining through the open door, had revealed the features of the young man (whom we must now call Mr. Stanhope), so that his classmate had recognized him.  His first impulse had been to slip away in the darkness, and so escape from his awkward predicament; but George Alford’s prompt address prevented this and brought him to bay.  He was painfully embarrassed, but managed to stammer:  “I was taken for you, I think.  I never had the pleasure—­ honor of meeting your sister.”

“Oh, ho!  I see now.  My wild little sister kissed before she looked.  Well, that was your good-fortune.  I could keep two Thanksgiving days on the strength of such a kiss as that,” cried the light-hearted student, shaking the diffident, shrinking Mr. Stanhope warmly by the hand.  “You will hardly need a formal introduction now.  But, bless me, where is she?  Has the November wind blown her away?”

“I think your sist—­the lady passed around to the side entrance.  I fear I have annoyed her sadly.”

“Nonsense!  A good joke—­something to tease the little witch about.  But come in.  I’m forgetting the sacred rites.”

And before the bewildered Mr. Stanhope could help himself, he was half dragged into the lighted hall, and the door shut between him and escape.

In the meantime, Elsie, like a whirlwind, had burst into the kitchen, where Mrs. Alford was superintending some savory dishes.

“Oh, mother, George has come and has a horrid man with him, who nearly devoured me.”

And, with this rather feminine mode of stating the case, she darted into the dusky, fire-lighted parlor, from whence, unseen, she could reconnoitre the hall.  Mr. Stanhope was just saying: 

“Please let me go.  I have stood between you and your welcome long enough.  I shall only be an intruder; and besides, as an utter stranger, I have no right to stay.”  To all of which Elsie devoutly whispered to herself, “Amen.”

But Mrs. Alford now appeared, and after a warm, motherly greeting to her son, turned in genial courtesy to welcome his friend, as she supposed.

George was so happy that he wished every one else to be the same.  The comical episode attending Mr. Stanhope’s unexpected appearance just hit his frolicsome mood, and promised to be a source of endless merriment if he could only keep his classmate over the coming holiday.  Moreover, he long had wished to become better acquainted with this young man, whose manner at the seminary had deeply interested him.  So he said: