"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. But the treasure that took Lancy's eyes directly he entered the room was the display of fishing-rods that hung on the opposite wall, and he stepped up at once to examine them. "That is a fine rod you have there," he remarked to Maxwell. "Yes, rather; fishing is my favorite sport. I have caught a five-pounder with this light one," and in the discussion of flies, reels, etc., they were fast forgetting that they were utter strangers but two short hours ago. Presently Maxwell asked, as if it had just occurred to him: "Who is this young friend of yours, this Miss Sherwood? She is very amusing; quite an original, is she not?" "Well, she is something different from the average young lady, if that is what you mean. She is an American." "Ah! I thought as much; and your _sister's_ particular friend, is she?" giving a sly look at Lancy.