He read it over reflectively.  “There ought to be someone for me,” he said.  “I am not hard to please.  Any good, steady old lady who will give me a bite to eat, not swear at me or wear my clothes or drink while on duty will answer my purpose.”

Two days after his advertisement had appeared in the Brandon Times, “she” arrived.

Shaw saw a smart-looking woman gaily tripping along the road, and his heart failed.

As she drew near, however, he was relieved to find that her hair was snowy white.

“Good evening, Mr. Shaw!” she called to him as soon as she was within speaking distance.

“Good evening, madam,” he replied, lifting his hat.

“I just asked along the road until I found you,” she said, untying her bonnet strings; “I knew this lonesome little house must be the place.  No trees, no flowers, no curtains, no washing on the line—­I could tell there was no woman around.”  She was fixing her hair at his little glass as she spoke.  “Now, son, run out and get a few chips for the fire, and we’ll have a bite of supper in a few minutes.”

Shaw brought the chips.

“Now, what do you say to pancakes for supper?”

Shaw declared that nothing would suit him so well as pancakes.

The fire crackled merrily under the kettle, and soon the two of them were sitting down to an appetizing meal of pancakes and syrup, boiled eggs and tea.

“Land sakes, George, you must have had your own time with those housekeepers of yours!  Some of them drank, eh?  I could tell that by the piece you put in the paper.  But never mind them now; I’ll soon have you feeling fine as silk.  How’s your socks?  Toes out, I’ll bet.  Well, I’ll hunt you up a pair, if there’s any to be found.  If I can’t find any you can go to bed when you get your chores done, and I’ll wash out them you’ve on—­I can’t bear my men folks to have their toes out; a hole in the heel ain’t so bad, it’s behind you and you can forget it, but a hole in the toe is always in your way no matter which way you’re going.”

After supper, when Shaw was out doing his chores, he could see her bustling in and out of the house; now she was beating his bedclothes on the line; in another minute she was leaning far out of a bedroom window dusting a pillow.

When he came into the house she reported that her search for stockings, though vigorous, had been vain.  He protested a little about having to go to bed when the sun was shining, but she insisted.

“I’m sorry, George,” she said, “to have to make you go to bed, but it’s the only thing we can do.  You’ll find your bed feels a lot better since I took the horse collar and the pair of rubber boots out from under the mattress.  That’s a poor place to keep things.  Good-night now—­don’t read lying down.”

When he went upstairs Shaw noticed with dismay that his lamp had gone from the box beside his bed.  So he was not likely to disobey her last injunction—­at least, not for any length of time.