"Dat I will, sah!" and Zeb bustled in and sat himself down between the table and the wide chimney, where he could have a full view of all the preparations for the coming meal. The woman scowled at him and broadly hinted that he was in the way, but Zeb was obtuse and would not take a hint. He watched her narrowly as she mixed corn-bread and put it to bake, as she made the rye coffee, and fried the ham and eggs. It would have been impossible for her to put a single ingredient into any of these without his knowledge. Nor did he relax his scrutiny until he had eaten his own supper, after seeing the gentlemen safely through theirs. "She mout put sumpin into de cups wen she pours de coffee," he had said to himself. It did not escape him that she listened with a sort of concealed eagerness to every word that was said by her guests, and that she started slightly and looked earnestly at Dr. Clendenin the first time he was addressed by name in her hearing. "What shall we call you, mother?" asked the hunter, lighting his pipe at her fire for an after supper smoke. "'Taint perticlar, ye can just call me that, if ye like," she returned dryly. "You don't live here alone," he remarked, glancing at a coat hanging on the wall. "Where's your man now?" "Off a huntin'. Where's your woman?" "Don't know, hain't found her yet," he laughed, taking the pipe between his lips and sauntering to the door, outside of which his companions were grouped. The air there was slightly damp and chill, but far preferable to that within, which reeked with a mixture of smells of stale tobacco, garlic, boiled cabbage and filth combined. It was growing dark. The woman lighted a candle and set it on the table, muttering half aloud, as Zeb rose and pushed back his chair: "I'm glad you're done at last." Then she bustled about putting the food away and washing her dishes. Johnson finished his pipe and proposed retiring to bed, as they wanted to make an early start in the morning. A general assent was given and the woman was asked to show them where they were to sleep. She vouchsafed no answer in words, but taking from the mantel a saucer filled with grease, in which a bit of rag was floating, she set it on the table, lighted one end of the rag, picked up the candle, and motioning them to follow her, ascended a step-ladder to the story above; letting fall drops of melted tallow here and there as she went. Reaching the top of the ladder, they found themselves in an outer room that had the appearance of being used as a depository for every sort of rubbish. Crossing this, their conductress opened a door leading into a smaller apartment, communicating, by an inner door, with still another. There was a bed in each and a few other articles of furniture, all of the roughest kind. Dirty and untidy in the extreme, the rooms were by no means inviting to our travellers, but it was Hobson's choice, and they found no fault to the hostess.