"Oh, dear me, Mr. Upton, you must excuse me," Mrs. Pillig cried anxiously. "Mrs. John Barker's boy Leslie gave Buster to Peter a month ago, and of course I sent him right back, but he wouldn't stay back, and yesterday we took him away again, and this morning he just suddenly appeared behind the wagon, and I told Peter he couldn't come, and Peter cried, and Buster wouldn't go back, and I'll make Peter take him away just as soon as the rain stops." "Well, I hadn't bargained on Buster, that's a fact," said I. I didn't like dogs; most people don't who've never had one. But he was such a forlornly muddy mongrel pup, and so eloquent of tail, that I spoke his name on an impulse, and put out my hand. The great tail wagged him to the ears, and with the friendliest of undulations he was all at once close to me, with his nose in my palm. Then he suddenly sat up on his hind legs, dangled his front paws, looked me square in the eyes, and barked. That was too much for me. "Peter," said I, "you may keep Buster." "Golly, I'd 'a' had a hard time not to," said that young person, immediately making for the barn, with Buster at his heels. Mrs. Pillig and I went inside. While she was inspecting the kitchen, Mike and I carried her trunk up the back stairs. "I hope your bed comes to-day," said I, returning. "You see, the house is largely furnished from my two rooms at college, and there was hardly enough to go around." Mrs. Pillig looked into the south room. "Did you have all them books in your two rooms at college?" she asked. I nodded. "They must 'a' been pretty big rooms," she said. "Books is awful things to keep dusted." "Which reminds me," I smiled, leading her over to my desk, at which I pointed impressively. "Woman!" said I, in sepulchral tones, "that desk is never to be dusted, never to be touched. Not a paper is to be removed from it. No matter how dirty, how littered it gets, _never touch it under pain of death!_" She looked at me a second with her worried eyes wide open, and then a smile came over her wan, thin face. "I guess you be n't so terrible as you sound," she said. "But I won't touch it. Anything else I'm not to touch?" "Yes," I answered. "The ashes in those two fireplaces. _The ashes there are never to be taken out_, no matter if they are piled a foot thick, and spill all over the floor. A noble pile of ashes is a room's best recommendation. Those are the only two orders I have. In all else, I'm at your mercy. But on those two points you are at mine--and I have none!" "Well, I reckon I'll wash the kitchen windows," said Mrs. Pillig. I was sawing up a few more sticks from the orchard, when the express man drove up with the beds, the crockery, and so on. I called son Peter, who responded with Buster at his heels. "Peter," said I, "you and I'll now set up the beds. You ought to be in school, though, by the way. Why aren't you?" "Hed ter bring maw over here," said Peter. "That's too bad. Aren't you sorry?"