Miss Zillah could be stately herself when occasion demanded, and she was quite as polite as Mr. Rowantree when she thanked him. If Mr. Rowantree could have had his way, he would have beaten his hands together and summoned his slaves to lead the horses to the stables. But the truth—the bare and undecorated truth—was that there were neither slaves nor stables, the first never having come into Mr. Rowantree’s life, and the second having been burned to the ground a few years back. But the horses, which Mr. Rowantree and Keefe cared for, were no doubt much happier let loose in a field near at hand. The ponies in particular were enthusiastic, and their cheerful neighings could be heard at intervals the rest of the day. Aunt Zillah, followed by her two girls, entered what the Rowantrees were pleased to call their “drawing-room.” It was large enough to deserve the name, no question about that. And the outlook from its great windows was so beautiful—the house being on a rise and overlooking the forest about it and glimpsing the mountains beyond—that curtains would have been a mere drawback. Nor could any wall covering have been softer in color than the gray building paper which had been tacked on the joists of the house, since the builders never had got as far as lath and plaster. There was no chimney shelf, but there was a large fireplace, heaped for the occasion with oleander leaves. A few pieces of fine mahogany furniture were surrounded by the rudest mountain chairs, and the wall decorations consisted of a beautiful clock which kept the time of sunrise and moonrise as well as the hours of the day; in addition there were two fine, mellow portraits in oil, a fowling piece, two broken tennis rackets and some mountain baskets. Miss Zillah was too delicate-minded to take stock of anybody’s possessions, but the eager girls, set on their own sort of an adventure, noticed these odds and ends with one sweep of their eyes. Then, the next moment, the mistress of the house entered, and all was forgotten in looking at her.