metal itself, the weight an color and touch of it.  In his bedroom on the ground-floor Mr. Shackford kept a small iron-clamped box filled to the lid with bright yellow coins.  Often, at the dead of night, with door bolted and curtain down, he would spread out the glittering pieces on the table, and bend over them with an amorous glow in his faded eyes.  These were his blond mistresses; he took a fearful joy in listening to their rustling, muffle laughter as he drew them towards him with eager hands.  If at that instant a blind chanced to slam, or a footfall to echo in the lonely court, then the withered old sultan would hurry his slaves back into their iron-bound seraglio, and extinguish the light.  It would have been a wasted tenderness to pity him.  He was very happy in his own way, that Lemuel Shackford.

IX

Towards the close of his second year with Mr. Slocum, Richard was assigned a work-room by himself, and relieved of his accountant’s duties.  His undivided energies were demanded by the carving department, which had proved a lucrative success.

The rear of the lot on which Mr. Slocum’s house stood was shut off from the marble yard by a high brick wall pierced with a private door for Mr. Slocum’s convenience.  Over the kitchen in the extension, which reached within a few feet of the wall, was a disused chamber, approachable on the outside by a flight of steps leading to a veranda.  To this room Richard and his traps were removed.  With a round table standing in the center, with the plaster models arranged on shelves and sketches in pencil and crayon tacked against the whitewashed walls, the apartment was transformed into a delightful atelier.  An open fire-place, with a brace of antiquated iron-dogs straddling the red brick hearth, gave the finishing touch.  The occupant was in easy communication with the yard, from which the busy din of clinking chisels came u musically to his ear, and was still beyond the reach of unnecessary interruption.  Richard saw clearly all the advantages of this transfer, but he was far form having any intimation that he had made the most important move of his life.

The room had two doors:  one opened on the veranda, and the other into a narrow hall connecting the extension with the main building.  Frequently, that first week after taking possession, Richard detected the sweep of a broom and the rustle of drapery in this passage-way, the sound sometimes hushing itself quite close to the door, as if some one had paused a moment just outside.  He wondered whether it was the servant-maid or Margaret Slocum, whom he knew very well by sight.  It was, in fact, Margaret, who was dying with the curiosity of fourteen to peep into the studio, so carefully locked whenever the young man left it,—­dying with curiosity to see the workshop, and standing in rather great awe of the workman.

In the home circle her father had a habit of speaking with deep respect of young Shackford’s ability, and once she had seen him at their table,—­at a Thanksgiving.  On this occasion Richard had appalled her by the solemnity of his shyness,—­poor Richard, who was so unused to the amenities of a handsomely served dinner, that the chill which came over him cooled the Thanksgiving turkey on his palate.