It was a pleasant sight to see him greet his guests with the cheery words, “Glad to see you. How are you? All fired tired, I know. Walk right in to the settin’ room. Dotty has got dinner most ready. Dotty is my wife, and I am Mr. Taylor,” with a nod towards the spot where Taylor’s Tavern swung. But if he were the _Taylor_, Dorothy was to all intents and purposes the _Tavern_,—the man of the house, who had managed everything from the time she took possession of her new home and began to understand that a clearer head was needed than the one on her husband’s shoulders if they were to succeed. Her head was clear, and her hands willing, and Taylor’s Tavern became famous for its good table, its clean beds and general air of homely hospitality. As years went by a few city people began to ask for board during the summer, and with their advent matters changed a little. There were finer linen and china and the extravagance of a dozen solid silver forks to be used only for the city boarders, and, when they were gone, to be wrapped in tissue paper and put carefully away in a piece of old shawl on a shelf in a closet opening from Mrs. Taylor’s sleeping room. Uncle Zacheus submitted to the silver forks and china and linen, but when, as his wife grew more ambitious, she told him that “Taylor’s Tavern” was quite too old fashioned a name for their establishment, and suggested changing it to “Prospect House,” he resisted quite stoutly for him. The change would necessitate a new sign, and “Taylor’s Tavern” would disappear from sight. It was in vain that he protested, saying it would be like putting away a part of himself. Dorothy was firm and carried her point, as she usually did. The sign was taken down and the sign post, too, for the new name was to be over the principal entrance to the house, as it was in cities.