rom accompanying them into the room they had but a few moments
before decorated and arranged with their own hands, and it was not until
they turned to thank their strange entertainers that they found that
they were gone.

The arrangement of the second room was rude and bizarre, but not without
a singular originality and even tastefulness of conception. What had
been the counter or "bar" of the saloon, gorgeous in white and gold,
now sawn in two and divided, was set up on opposite sides of the room as
separate dressing-tables, decorated with huge bunches of azaleas, that
hid the rough earthenware bowls, and gave each table the appearance of a
vestal altar.

The huge gilt plate-glass mirror which had hung behind the bar still
occupied one side of the room, but its length was artfully divided by
an enormous rosette of red, white, and blue muslin--one of the surviving
Fourth of July decorations of Thompson's saloon. On either side of the
door two pathetic-looking, convent-like cots, covered with spotless
sheeting, and heaped up in the middle, like a snow-covered grave, had
attracted their attention. They were still staring at them when Mr. Carr
anticipated their curiosity.

"I ought to tell you that the young men confided to me the fact that
there was neither bed nor mattress to be had on the Ford. They have
filled some flour sacks with clean dry moss from the woods, and put half
a dozen blankets on the top, and they hope you can get along until
the messenger who starts to-night for La Grange can bring some bedding
over."

Jessie flew with mischievous delight to satisfy herself of the truth
of this marvel. "It's so, Christie," she said laughingly--"three
flour-sacks apiece; but I'm jealous: yours are all marked 'superfine,'
and mine 'middlings.'"

Mr. Carr had remained uneasily watching Christie's shadowed face.

"What matters?" she said drily. "The accommodation is all in keeping."

"It will be better in a day or two," he continued, casting a longing
look towards the door--the first refuge of masculine weakness in an
impending domestic emergency. "I'll go and see what can be done," he
said feebly, with a sidelong impulse towards the opening and freedom.
"I've got to see Fairfax again to-night any way."

"One moment, father," said Christie, wearily. "Did you know anything of
this place and these--these people--before you came?"

"Certainly--of course I did," he returned, with the sudden testiness of
disturbed abs