twanged the accents of special spiritual revelation, and called him
to himself again, "Be ye wise as sarpints, but harmless as duvs," said
Jeff's aunt, generally, "and let 'em be thankful ez doesn't aboos the
stren'th the Lord gives 'em, but be allers ready to answer for it at the
bar o' their Maker." Possibly some suggestion in her figure of speech
reminded her of Jeff's forgotten duties, so she added in the same breath
and tone, "especially when transient customers is waiting for their
licker, and Yuba Bill hammerin' on the counter with his glass; and yer
ye stand, Jeff, never even takin' up that wet bar-skin--enuff to give
that young woman her death."

Stammering out an incoherent apology, addressed vaguely to the occupants
of the room, but looking toward the languid goddess on the sofa, Jeff
seized the bear-skin and backed out the door. Then he flew to his room
with it, and then returned to the bar-room; but the impatient William of
Yuba had characteristically helped himself and gone off to the stable.
Then Jeff stole into the hall and halted before the closed door of the
sitting-room. A bold idea of going in again, as became a landlord of the
"Half-way House," with an inquiry if they wished anything further, had
seized him, but the remembrance that he had always meekly allowed that
duty to devolve upon his aunt, and that she would probably resent it
with scriptural authority and bring him to shame again, stayed his
timid knuckles at the door. In this hesitation he stumbled upon his aunt
coming down the stairs with an armful of blankets and pillows, attended
by their small Indian servant, staggering under a mattress.

"Is everything all right, aunty?"

"Ye kin be thankful to the Lord, Jeff Briggs, that this didn't happen
last week when I was down on my back with rheumatiz. But ye're never