evidently in constant use. There was not the least attempt at prettiness
anywhere. Pipes and books and old newspapers littered the chairs and
tables; when an extra seat was needed Clarence simply tipped a great pile
of these on to the floor. A gun-rack hung upon the wall, together with
sundry long stock-whips and two or three pairs of spurs, and a smell of
tobacco pervaded the place.

Clover's eyes wandered to a corner where stood a small parlor organ, and
over it a shelf of books. She rose to examine them. To her surprise they
were all hymnals and Church of England prayer-books. There were no others.
She wondered what it meant.

Clarence had given up his own bedroom to Phil, and was to chum with his
friend. Some little attempt had been made to adorn the rooms which were
meant for the ladies. Clean towels had been spread over the pine shelves
which did duty for dressing-tables, and on each stood a tumbler stuffed as
full as it could hold with purple pentstemons. Clover could not help
laughing, yet there was something pathetic to her in the clumsy, man-like
arrangement. She relieved the tumbler by putting a few of the flowers in
her dress, and went out again to the parlor, where Mrs. Hope sat by the
fire, quizzing the two partners, who were hard at work setting their
tea-table.

It was rather a droll spectacle,--the two muscular young fellows creaking
to and fro in their heavy boots, and taking such an infinitude of pains
with their operations. One would set a plate on the table, and the other
would forthwith alter its position slightly, or lift and scrutinize a
tumbler and dust it sedulously with a glass-towel. Each spoon was polished
with the greatest particularity before it was laid on the tray; each knife
passed under inspection. Visitors were not an every-day luxury in the High