“I shall catch my death a cold,” she sighed, as the chilly air penetrated her garments, and sent a shudder through her frame.

Comfortably, and as much at home as if he were in his own parlor, sat Mr. Bebee in front of the roaring grate, rocking himself in the great arm-chair, and enjoying a new book which he had found upon the table.

As Mrs. Fairview looked at him, and saw the complete repose and satisfaction of his manner, she began to feel in utter despair.  Already her teeth were beginning to chatter, and she was shivering as if attacked by a fit of ague.  Five, ten, fifteen, twenty minutes elapsed—­but there sat the visiter, deeply absorbed in his book; and there stood the unfortunate lady who was “not at home,” so benumbed with cold as almost to have lost the sense of bodily feeling.  A certain feeling in the throat warned her that she was taking cold, and would, in all probability, suffer from inflammation of the windpipe and chest.  Five, ten, fifteen minutes more went by; but Mr. Beebe did not move from his place.  He was far too comfortable to think of that.

At last after remaining in prison for nearly an hour, Mrs. Fairview, who by this time was beginning to suffer, besides excessive fatigue, from a sharp pain through her breast to her left shoulder blade, and who was painfully aware that she had taken a cold that would, in all probability, put her in bed for a week, determined to make her escape at all hazards.  Mr. Beebe showed no disposition to go, and might remain for an hour longer.  Throwing an apron over her head and face, she softly opened the door, and gliding past her visiter, escaped into the hall, and ran panting up stairs.  Mr. Beebe raised his head at this unexpected invasion of the parlor, but on reflection concluded that the person who so suddenly appeared and disappeared was merely a servant in the family.

About an hour afterwards, finding that Mrs. Fairview did not return, Mr. Beebe left his card on the table, and departed in his usual comfortable state of mind.

Poor Mrs. Fairview paid dearly for her part in this transaction.  A severe attack of inflammation of the lungs followed, which came near resulting in death.  It was nearly three weeks before she was able to leave her room, and then her physician said she must not venture out before the mild weather of the opening spring.

A few days after the lady was able to go about the house again, Mr. Bebee called to congratulate her on her recovery.  Two of her children were in the parlor; one eleven years old, and the other a child in her fourth year.

“O, you naughty man, you!” exclaimed the latter, the moment she saw Mr. Bebee.  The oldest of the two children, who understood in a moment what her little sister meant, whispered:  “H-u-s-h!—­h-u-s-h!  Mary!”

“What am I naughty about, my little sis?” said Mr. Bebee.

“O, because you are a naughty man!  You made my mother sick, so you did!  And mother says she never wants to look in your face again.  You are a naughty man!”