"Well, I guess we would never go down but once," he answered.

"No, indeed," said Euphemia; "you'd fall down and break your neck
the first time," and she turned away from the window with a very
grave expression on her face.

Soon after this our hostess conducted Euphemia to the guest-
chamber, while her husband and I finished a bed-time cigar.

When I joined Euphemia in her room, she met me with a mysterious
expression on her face. She shut the door, and then said in a very
earnest tone:

"Do you see that little bedstead in the corner? I did not notice
it until I came in just now, and then, being quite astonished, I
said, 'Why here's a child's bed; who sleeps here?' 'Oh,' says she,
'that's our little Adele's bedstead. We have it in our room when
she's here.' 'Little Adele!' said I, 'I didn't know she was
little--not small enough for that bed, at any rate.' 'Why, yes,'
said she, 'Adele is only four years old. The bedstead is quite
large enough for her.' 'And she is not here now?' I said, utterly
amazed at all this. 'No,' she answered, 'she is not here now, but
we try to have her with us as much as we can, and always keep her
little bed ready for her.' 'I suppose she's with her father's
people,' I said, and she answered, 'Oh yes,' and bade me good-
night. What does all this mean? Our boarder told us that the
daughter is grown up, and here his wife declares that she is only
four years old! I don't know what in the world to make of this
mystery!"