"Hello!" he called out. "Want to go back this morning?" "Not a bit of it," I cried. "We wont go back for a couple of weeks. We've settled here for the present." The man smiled. He didn't seem to understand it exactly, but he was evidently glad to see us so well satisfied. If he had had time to stop and have the matter explained to him, he would probably have been better satisfied; but as it was, he waved his whip to us and drove on. He was a good fellow. We strolled all day, having locked up the house and taken our lunch with us; and when we came back, it seemed really like coming home. Mrs. Carson, with whom we had left the key, had brought the milk and was making the fire. This woman was too kind. We determined to try and repay her in some way. After a splendid supper we went to bed happy. The next day was a repetition of this one, but the day after it rained. So we determined to enjoy the old tavern, and we rummaged about everywhere. I visited the garret again, and we went to the old barn, with its mows half full of hay, and had rare times climbing about there. We were delighted that it happened to rain. In a wood-shed, near the house, I saw a big square board with letters on it. I examined the board, and found it was a sign,--a hanging sign,--and on it was painted in letters that were yet quite plain: "FARMERS' AND MECHANICS' HOTEL." I called to Euphemia and told her that I had found the old tavern sign. She came to look at it, and I pulled it out. "Soldiers and sailors!" she exclaimed; "that's funny." I looked over on her side of the sign, and, sure enough, there was the inscription: "SOLDIERS' AND SAILORS' HOUSE." "They must have bought this comprehensive sign in some town," I said. "Such a name would never have been chosen for a country tavern like this. But I wish they hadn't taken it down. The house would look more like what it ought to be with its sign hanging before it." "Well, then," said Euphemia, "let's put it up." I agreed instantly to this proposition, and we went to look for a ladder. We found one in the wagon-house, and carried it out to the sign-post in the front of the house. It was raining, gently, during these performances, but we had on our old clothes, and were so much interested in our work that we did not care for a little rain. I carried the sign to the post, and then, at the imminent risk of breaking my neck, I hung it on its appropriate hooks on the transverse beam of the sign-post. Now our tavern was really what it pretended to be. We gazed on the sign with admiration and content. "Do you think we had better keep it up all the time?" I asked of my wife. "Certainly," said she. "It's a part of the house. The place isn't complete without it." "But suppose some one should come along and want to be entertained?" "But no one will. And if people do come, I'll take care of the soldiers and sailors, if you will attend to the farmers and mechanics."