Of course I was unprepared for the visitor, a blithe disarray is how best to describe my bachelor housekeeping technique.  When the iron door knocker on the outer door roused me from a much deserved sleep, I immediately assumed it to be Kromist with the weeks letters from Heartmont.  We share the mail, each resident of the Grove adding tidbits then extracting ours when a round is made and inserting fresh news into the mail packet. Instead it was Glover Piedmon, that old lout from the River Bend Grove claiming hospitality. Late and fresh from a downpour, he waddled indoors, tracking muddy prints down my freshly swept hall.  I stirred up the coals, adding fresh reed bundles to infuse the library with warmth and a welcoming glow.  I must admit it did my heart good to see the old duffers cheeks flush with heat and a double serving of brandy wine.  But he's been here two long weeks and seems intent on staying a second fortnight while pressing his suit for the Widow Danniger's hand.  Barely out of mourning and already fending off callers intent on offering the uncertain comforts of a solitarys hearth!  I scarcely know which to feel more sympathy for, myself or the twice rejected Glover Piedmon.  Perhaps I'll speak to the Widow Danniger myself and plead my houseguests cause!!!   A splendid notion!