However, I am running ahead of my story. Returning to the house, I went up to my new chamber, where my striped Navajo blanket (a gift from a New Mexican undergraduate who had been in one of my courses and entertained an inexplicable regard for me, possibly because I persuaded him that he was not destined for a literary career) was spread on the floor, my old college bed was clean with fresh linen, and my college shingles hung on the walls, a pleasant reminder of those strange social ambitions which mean so much to youth. Through my west window streamed in the sunset. I peeled off my clothes and dove into my brand new and quite too expensive porcelain bath tub--a luxury Bert's house did not possess. Then I got into my good clothes and a starched collar, more for the now novel sensation than anything else, ate my supper, and in the warm June evening walked up the road. Bert and his wife were in the front sitting-room. I could see them beneath the hanging lamp. The girl was walking idly up and down before the house. Out of range of the open window I took her hand and gave it a little pressure. "For the centrepiece," said I. "You sat opposite me at my first meal, bless you!" "Did I?" she answered. "What are you talking about?" She smiled it off, but I knew that she was pleased at my pleasure. Then I led the way into the parlour. "Hear, ye; hear, ye; hear, ye!" I cried. "To-morrow night at seven a housewarming dinner-party will be given at Twin Fires. The guests will be Mrs. Bert Temple, her lesser fraction, and Miss Stella Goodwin." "Land o' Goshen!" said Mrs. Bert. "I ain't got no fit clothes." Bert and I roared. "They're all alike," cried Bert to me. "You ain't got no fit clothes, neither, hev you, Miss Goodwin?" "Of course not," she laughed. "But I expect to go." "Well, I ain't got no swaller tail myself," said Bert. "But I expect to go. We'll jest leave the old lady ter home." "Will you, now?" said she. "Do you s'pose I'd lose a chance to see how Mrs. Pillig's feedin' our friend? Not much!" "Seven o'clock, then!" I called, as I went back down the road, to light my old student's lamp again at last, and labour in my own house in the quiet evening, the time of day the Lord appointed for mental toil. As I drew near, the form of Buster emerged from the shed, barking savagely, his bark changing to whimpers of joy as I spoke his name. He pleaded to come into the house with me, so I let him come, and all the evening he lay on the rug beside my chair, while I worked. Now and then I leaned to stroke his head, whereupon he would roll over on his back, raise his four paws into the air, and present his white belly to be scratched. When I stopped, he would roll back with a grunt of profound satisfaction, bat one eye at me affectionately, and go to sleep again. "Buster," said I, "hanged if I don't like you." His great tail spanked the rug.