whence came the busy hum of a sewing machine.

The door was securely fastened on the inner side, but opened immediately
in response to three quick, sharp taps of a pencil which Calhoun took
from his pocket.

It was his mother's face that looked cautiously out upon him. "Oh, you
have returned," she said in an undertone; "well, come in. I'm glad to
see you."

He stepped in, and she locked the door again, and sitting down, resumed
the work, which it seemed had been laid aside to admit him. She was
making odd looking rolls of cotton cloth; stuffing them with cotton
wool.

Mrs. Johnson, the only other person present, was seated before the
sewing machine, stitching a seam in a long garment of coarse, white
linen.

"How d'ye do, Cal?" she said, looking up for an instant to give him a
nod.

He returned the greeting, and taking a chair by Mrs. Conly's side, "All
well, mother?" he asked.

"Quite. You're just in time to tell me whether these are going to look
right. You know we've never seen any, and have only your description to
go by."

She held up a completed roll. It looked like a horn, tapering nearly to