little,'' I said, ``or you'll smother in
there.''

``Well,'' said the old woman, `` hit's all
right to leave the door open. Nothin's
goin' ter bother ye, but one o' my sons is
out a coon-huntin' and he mought come in,
not knowin' you're thar. But you jes'
holler an' he'll move on.'' She meant
precisely what she said and saw no humor
at all in such a possibility--but when the
door closed, I could hear those girls
stifling shrieks of laughter.

Literally, that night, I was a member
of the family. I had a bed to myself
(the following night I was not so fortunate)--
in one corner; behind the head of
mine the old woman, the daughter-in-law
and the baby had another in the other
corner, and the old man with the two boys
spread a pallet on the floor. That is the
invariable rule of courtesy with the
mountaineer, to give his bed to the stranger and
take to the floor himself, and, in passing,
let me say that never, in a long experience,
have I seen the slightest consciousness--
much less immodesty--in a mountain cabin
in my life. The same attitude on the part
of the visitors is taken for granted--any