overed.

"Jist so," said she, putting down the chips, and inviting us to seats on
a bench. "Dave Dutton's folks is all moved away. Dave has a good farm
on the other side o' the mountain, an' it never did pay him to keep that
tavern, 'specially as he didn't sell liquor. When he went away, his son
Al come there to live with his wife, an' the old man left a good deal
o' furniter and things fur him, but Al's wife aint satisfied here, and,
though they've been here, off an' on, the house is shet up most o' the
time. It's fur sale an' to rent, both, ef anybody wants it. I'm sorry
about you, too, fur it was a nice tavern, when Dave kept it."

We admitted that we were also very sorry, and the kind-hearted woman
showed a great deal of sympathy.

"You might stay here, but we haint got no fit room where you two could
sleep."

At this, Euphemia and I looked very blank. "But you could go up to the
house and stay, jist as well as not," Mrs. Carson continued. "There's
plenty o' things there, an' I keep the key. For the matter o' that, ye
might take the house for as long as ye want to stay; Dave 'd be glad
enough to rent it; and, if the lady knows how to keep house, it wouldn't
be no trouble at all, jist for you two. We could let ye have all the
victuals ye'd want, cheap, and there's plenty o' wood there, cut, and
everything handy."

We looked at each other. We agreed. Here was a chance for a rare good
time. It might be better, perhaps, than anything we had expected.

The bargain was struck. Mrs. Carson, who seemed vested with all the
necessary powers of attorney, appeared to be perfectly satisfied with
our trustworthiness, and when I paid on the spot the small sum she
thought proper for two weeks' rent, she evidently considered she had
done a very good thing for Dave Dutton and herself.

"I'll jist put some bread, an' eggs, an' coffee, an' pork, an' things in
a basket, an' I'll have 'em took up fur ye, with yer trunk, an' I'll go
with ye an' take some milk. Here, Danny!" she cried, and directly her
husband, a long, thin, sun-burnt, sandy-headed man, appeared, and to
him she told, in a few words, our story, and ordered him to hitch up the
cart and be ready to take our trunk and the basket up to Dutton's old
house.

When all was ready, we walked up the hill, followed by Danny and
the cart. We found the house a large, low, old-fashioned farm-house,
standing near the road with a long piazza in front, and a magnificent
view of mou