These of the old guard were also dressed much the same, and "slouchy" best describes it. Gray flannel shirts in winter or summer alike. Collars, cuffs, and ties were never seen on them, though patches were, and as for shaving or hair-cutting, a few shaved once a week, some never did, and semi-annual hair-cuts were a fair average. The worst sinner in this respect, Luke Atwater, occasionally called "Lazy Luke," never had his beard shortened but once, and that was due to its being burnt off while he was fighting a brush fire in spring. It was related of him, and believed by many, that once upon a time many years previous he had had his hair cut, and on that occasion the barber had found a whetstone concealed in Luke's shock of tangled hair. It was also asserted that he admitted always carrying his whetstone back of his ear while mowing, and so losing it that way. All the news and every happening in Riverton, from the catching of an extra big trout to twins, was duly commented upon and discussed by this coterie. Village politics, how much money each storekeeper was making, crop prospects, the run of sap every spring, drouth, weather indications, rain or snow falls, each and all formed rotating subjects upon which every one of this faithful-to-the-post clique expressed opinions. Chip's arrival there with the Frisbie family, and her later history, learned from Uncle Joe, furnished a fertile topic, her escapade in running away from Greenvale a more exciting one, while Old Cy's visit and deposit of a fabulous sum in the bank in her name had been a nine days' wonder. That amount, hinted at only by the cashier as a comfortable fortune, soon grew in size until it was generally believed to be almost a million. This was Riverton and its decidedly rural status when late one December afternoon the Quaboag free 'bus (a two-seated pung, this time) swept up to that hotel's front door, where the porter assisted a stylish young lady to alight, and he, stepping like a drum major, led the way into the Quaboag's unwarmed parlor. "Young lady, sir, a stunner, wants room over night, sir," he announced to the landlord in the office a moment later. "Goin' to Greenvale to-morrer, she says." On the instant all converse in the office ceased, and the six constant callers hardly breathed until Sam Gates hastened to the parlor and returned. "It's that McGuire gal--lady, I mean," he asserted pompously; then to the porter, "Git a move on, Jim, 'n' start a fire in Number 6, an' quick, too!" And hastily brushing his untidy hair before the office mirror, he left the room again, followed by six envious glances. Then those astonished loafers grouped themselves, the better to observe the passage between parlor and office. Only one instant sight of this important guest was obtained by them as Chip emerged from the parlor and followed the landlord upstairs, and then the hushed spell was broken.