“What! you are not sisters!  I thought you were, though you don’t look it, sure enough,” said Mrs. Morris.

“I hope it don’t matter, Mrs. Morris,” said Dexie, who actually thought the woman might refuse to keep her.  “We are very dear friends, Miss Gurney and I, and will gladly occupy the one room while we are here.”

“Very well.  Step into the parlor.  I will bring my sister to see you,” and she disappeared in a twinkling, but returned a few moments later in a quiet, dignified manner with her sister, saying: 

“These young people want to stay here a few days.  Shall we keep them?”

“Why, to be sure, Matilda.  Take off your hats, my dears; you look warm.  So you are only going to make a short visit, my sister tells me.”

“Yes; we are going on to Charlottetown in a day or two,” Dexie replied.

“Perhaps you would like to go to your room at once?  Matilda, let them have the pink room; it will be the most pleasant.  I will try and entertain the young man while they are gone,” said Mrs. Gleason, whose manner was as quiet and pleasant as her sister’s was sharp and abrupt.

But Maxwell had decided to see to the young man himself—­long enough, at least, to find out something about his companion; so, as soon as Mrs. Morris left the room, he turned to the good-natured sister, saying: 

“Let me take him to my room for awhile, Mrs. Gleason; then you will not be bothered with either of us,” and, reading permission in her smiling face, he led the way upstairs.

The room Maxwell occupied was really worth visiting, and it told at a glance the character of the owner.  Its walls were decorated with articles that would not have been allowed inside the doors had Mrs. Morris beheld them in time to utter a protest, for she was as timid about some things as she was sharp in others.  For instance, there was a fine breech-loading rifle, dear to the heart of Maxwell, that hung on the wall above a brace of handsome revolvers.  These were the cause of constant terror and alarm to Mrs. Morris, for she never entered the room without a look of fear in their direction.  She fully expected them to “blaze away at her,” notwithstanding the fact that Maxwell had repeatedly assured her that they were not loaded.

Then there were several stuffed animals that had been deprived of life by these very weapons, and Maxwell had their forms preserved in as natural an attitude as possible.  While these added to the adornment of the room, they likewise served to increase Mrs. Morris’ terror, and she could not get over the idea that they might “jump at her, for they always looked just ready to do it.”

These, among other things, gave Mrs. Morris a particular aversion to the owner of the articles, for it was no trifling thing to keep this room well dusted and in proper order, with one’s body in a quiver of fright all the time, not knowing from what direction she might be assailed.