"What is the matter, daughter?" Rowland asked, suddenly. "Have Lester & Hooker been bothering you about that account again?" "No, father, I met Mr. Hooker, but he did not say anything about it. You know he agreed to give us another month." "Then something else has happened," Rowland persisted, still staring inquiringly. "No, nothing, father, nothing. I'm a little tired, that's all. Come, Mr. Brown, I know father has not shown you your room yet." They left the old gentleman on the veranda, eagerly scanning a page of his manuscript, and Mary led Charles up the old-fashioned stairs with its walnut balustrade and battered steps. She smiled as she explained that the "Yankee soldiers" had occupied the house during the war, and that no repairs had been made since. There were six bedrooms on the floor they were now on, and the one at the end over the kitchen was to be Charles's. She led him into it. It was very attractive. An old-fashioned mahogany wardrobe stood against the wall near the single window, which was draped with cheap cotton-lace curtains. There was a walnut wash-stand with a white marble top holding a white bowl and pitcher, and a plain mahogany bureau. There was an open fireplace which was filled with boughs of cedar. Its hearth had just been whitewashed. There was a table of old oak in the center of the room, holding some books and an old-fashioned brass candlestick. On the white walls in various sorts of frames hung some of the brilliant print pictures which were popular in the South just after the war. In a corner stood a tall-posted bed, which, with its snowy pillows and white counterpane, had a most cool and inviting look. "Do you really intend this for me?" Charles asked. "But you mustn't put me here, you know. You have no idea the sort of bed I've been sleeping in. If you have never seen a bunk in a circus freight-car--" "All the more reason you should be comfortable here with us," Mary interrupted. "As it is, I'm afraid you will want to quit us. It is awfully, awfully dull and lonely out here--no amusements of any sort. Your life must have been a very eventful and exciting one, and this, by contrast, may be anything but pleasant." "It is just what I want," he fairly pleaded now, as their probing eyes met like those of two earnest children. "I am sick of the life I was leading, while this--this somehow seems like--" He found himself unable to formulate what he was trying to say, and she laughed merrily. "I hope it is not due to your fibbing that you are all tangled up," she said. "Well, let's go down-stairs. I've got to help Zilla get dinner ready, and then I'll show you our corn and cotton. You won't want to begin work till to-morrow morning, of course." "But why?" he blandly inquired, as they were going down the stairs. "Well," she returned, "people usually begin in the morning when they hire out, and it will take you one afternoon at least to get the lay of the land and see what is to be done."