"It's three dollars a week, mister," Temperance had said severely. "That's just for bed and breakfast. I don't do no laundry, and I don't like cats. Besides there hasn't ever been a man in my house, and I don't think there ever will be." She banged her feather duster against the peeling porch rail. "That's all right," the man said, "Tommy and I ain't particular." "Oh, so you ain't particular," she mocked. "Well listen here my good man. You'd better be particular when you crawl into my best bed." "I don't want to sleep in your bed. I want to sleep by myself." "Don't get sassy or I'll bat you over the head with this feather duster," Temperance warned. "All right, Sister," the man said. "All right. Are you going to rent me the room or ain't you?" "I'll think about it," Temperance said. "Come in and have a chair but leave that filthy cat out of doors." "It ain't a filthy cat," the man said. "Maybe in another life this cat was your grandmother." Temperance shuddered. The man stooped to come in through the door--his cat still safely in his arms. He slouched comfortably into a red plush easy chair and put his head back against the lace doily. "Three dollars a week in advance," Temperance said. "And mind you I have a sick mother who mustn't be disturbed. She's bedfast and hard of hearing, and she'd probably have a relapse if she knew you was in the downstairs bedroom." "I get you, Sister." Why, Temperance Crandall! Whatever are you thinking of? the good woman asked herself while showing the man to his room. Why not tell Mother? Evil woman! Nasty woman! She bustled about the parlor flicking the dust from the gilded cat-tails, ferocious crayon portraits of her ancestors, and the model of the Washington Monument made of ground-up paper money. But if Temperance had any idea she could deceive her mother she was rudely disillusioned the next morning when she took toast and poor-man's tea to the invalid. "Temperance," shouted the old lady. "You've got a man in the house." "But, Mother. How did you know?" "Smelled him," said the old lady. "Smelled him?" "Tobacco and shaving soap. I'm no ninny." Luckily her mother wasn't shocked, said that what they needed around the house was a man. But Temperance on due consideration decided not to tell the neighbors. She remembered that Brailsford Junction was one bee-hive of gossips. They would be sure to suspect the worst and add a few details of their own. How Temperance hated gossips! Not that everything wasn't Christian and proper with her mother there every moment for a chaperon. And not that Temperance would carry on with her roomer the way Mabel Bentley had done with that railroad man. Nevertheless some women she knew had evil minds. She didn't trust them.