“Wait, ma’am. Let me. Please let me. I’ll just show this lady here to her yoom, and then come and take off your shoes for you!” exclaimed Polly. Then she put one of her candles on the chest of drawers, and retaining the other, turned to Mrs. Pole and said: “Now, ma’am, please I’ll take yer to your yoom. It’s just across the hall yere, right opposide to dis.” “Thanky,” replied Mrs. Pole. “I’ll go and find out where it is, and much obleeged to you. But then, dear, I will come back and stay long o’ you until Mr. Stuart comes up.” “Quite right, Poley, dear,” replied Palma, who by this time had got her boots off and her slippers out of her hand-bag and onto her feet, and was sitting before the fire with her toes on the top of the fender. Polly took Mrs. Pole across the hall to the opposite room, which as to size, windows and fireplace, was exactly like that of Palma’s, except that it had a northern instead of a southern aspect, and was, therefore, somewhat colder. It was also upholstered in curtain calico instead of white dimity, and had a picture of the Washington family, instead of a handsome mirror over the mantelpiece. But there was a fine fire burning which filled the room with light and warmth. “Now, ma’am, if yer want anything as I can get you——” began Polly; but Mrs. Pole interrupted and dismissed her. “No; thank you. Good-night,” she said. And Polly left the room. Pretty soon Mrs. Pole recrossed the hall and re-entered Palma’s apartment. “Has the colored woman gone at last?” she inquired. “Yes, Poley. But what is the matter, dear? I do believe you are jealous of that poor creature,” said Palma. “No, I am not; but I don’t like to be waited on and fussed over so much. I don’t myself! It is all wrong and on false grounds. They treat me here just as if I was a lady and——” began Mrs. Pole, but she in her turn was interrupted by Palma, who said: “Poley, dear, they treat you as a respectable woman, and as they treat all respectable women—that is, all respectable white women. You are to be our housekeeper and, as such, one of the family. Don’t ‘kick against the pricks,’ Poley, dear.” “I kick against anything? If you knew the stiffness of my joints through sitting so long in the cars you wouldn’t be talking of me and kicking in the same breath,” said Mrs. Pole with an injured air. Ringing steps, attended by shuffling feet, were heard coming along the hall, and then the voice of Cleve Stuart saying: “That will do, ’Sias! Thank you. Good-night.” And the shuffling feet went back and the ringing steps came on, and the door opened and Cleve Stuart entered the room. “Well, good-night, dearie, I’m gone. Good-night, Mr. Stuart,” said Mrs. Pole. And rising from the second easy-chair into which she had thrown herself she nodded and left them, regardless of Stuart’s good-natured protestations that she must not let him drive her away. All our tired travelers “slept the sleep of the just” that night.