“Is Mr. Omer at home?” said I, entering. “I should like to see him, for a moment, if he is.”

“Oh yes, sir, he is at home,” said Minnie; “the weather don’t suit his asthma out of doors. Joe, call your grandfather!”

The little fellow, who was holding her apron, gave such a lusty shout, that the sound of it made him bashful, and he buried his face in her skirts, to her great admiration. I heard a heavy puffing and blowing coming towards us, and soon Mr. Omer, shorter-winded than of yore, but not much older-looking, stood before me.

“Servant, sir,” said Mr. Omer. “What can I do for you, sir?”