him with, so that he don't do no mischief, we can leave him here
and go up to the house." I carried a pocket lantern, and quickly
lighted it. "By George!" said Uncle Beamish, as I held up the
lantern, "this ain't much of a barn--it's no more than a wagon-
house. It ain't Crocker's--but no matter; we'll go up to the
house. Here is a hitchin'-rope."

We fastened the horse, threw a robe over him, shut the barn
door behind us, and slowly made our way to the back of the house,
in which there was a lighted window. Mounting a little portico,
we reached a door, and were about to knock when it was opened for
us. A woman, plainly a servant, stood in a kitchen, light and
warm.

"Come right in," she said. "I heard your bells. Did you put
your horse in the barn?"

"Yes," said Uncle Beamish, "and now we would like to see--"

"All right," interrupted the woman, moving toward an inner
door. "Just wait here for a minute. I'm going up to tell her."

"I don't know this place," said Uncle Beamish, as we stood by
the kitchen stove, "but I expect it belongs to a widow woman."

"What makes you think that?" I asked.

"'Cause she said she was goin' to tell HER. If there had
been a man in the house, she would have gone to tell HIM."