uld be, but with the high sense of
honor and firm principle which can only come from a good mother and
careful home training. Ned, the older one, at thirteen was the image of
his father, with a rich, dark beauty which made him a striking contrast
to Grant's light yellow hair and pink and white cheeks. Grant was his
mother's own boy, in all but his eyes, which were like his father's,
large and brown; and he had received his mother's maiden name, just as
he had received the features and complexion of her family.

Of all the members of the Everett household, Grant was the only one who
felt no fear of Mrs. Pennypoker. Even his father was far more in
subjection to her rule than was his little son. Grant had been the first
to discover her bald spot--which he promptly christened her storm
centre--and to call Ned's attention to it; and therein lay much of his
power over her. Now, whenever Mrs. Euphemia threatened to get the better
of him, he had only to fix his eyes steadily on the top of her head, or
abstractedly rub his hand over his own yellow pate, to cause her to
abandon her lecture and escape to her mirror, in order to assure herself
that all was as it should be.

The Everetts lived a little to the west of the Burnam's, in what was
usually spoken of as "one of the old houses," to distinguish it from the
more modern structures of brick and boards. This particular old house
was, in fact, the oldest one in the camp, for it had been built by the
superintendent for his family, when the other inhabitants of the place
were still living in tents pitched along the edge of the creek. Like
most of the other houses of the town, it was a one-story building, low
and rambling, with odd wings and projections, which had been added to
the original square structure as the needs of the family demanded. It
was built of rough-hewn logs, but the front was coated with clapboards,
in deference to the prevailing style of architecture, which literally
put its best foot forward.

Within, the walls were guiltless of lath or plaster, but were covered
with strips of cotton cloth, to which the wall-paper was pasted. At
certain seasons, this imparted a peculiar effect to the rooms, for, in
the fierce winter gales, occasional breezes would work their way through
the crannies of the wall and cause the paper and its cloth background to
sway backwards and forwards, to the horror of the stranger unused to
such modes of finish, since the sight of the walls s