"Yes," returned Herbert, "and you may suppose how mild it makes his gout. He persists, too, in keeping all the provisions up stairs in his room, and serving them out. He keeps them on shelves over his head, and will weigh them all. His room must be like a chandler's shop."

     While he thus spoke, the growling noise became a prolonged roar, and then died away.

     "What else can be the consequence," said Herbert, in explanation, "if he will cut the cheese? A man with the gout in his right hand--and everywhere else--can't expect to get through a Double Gloucester without hurting himself."

     He seemed to have hurt himself very much, for he gave another furious roar.

     "To have Provis for an upper lodger is quite a godsend to Mrs. Whimple," said Herbert, "for of course people in general won't stand that noise. A curious place, Handel; isn't it?"

     It was a curious place, indeed; but remarkably well kept and clean.

     "Mrs. Whimple," said Herbert, when I told him so, "is the best of housewives, and I really do not know what my Clara would do without her motherly help. For, Clara has no mother of her own, Handel, and no relation in the world but old Gruffandgrim."