TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR ROOM

BY T. S. ARTHUR





NIGHT THE FIRST.

THE "SICKLE AND SHEAF."


Ten years ago, business required me to pass a day in Cedarville.
It was late in the afternoon when the stage set me down at the
"Sickle and Sheaf," a new tavern, just opened by a new landlord,
in a new house, built with the special end of providing
"accommodations for man and beast." As I stepped from the dusty
old vehicle in which I had been jolted along a rough road for some
thirty miles, feeling tired and hungry, the good-natured face of
Simon Slade, the landlord, beaming as it did with a hearty
welcome, was really a pleasant sight to see, and the grasp of his
hand was like that of a true friend.

I felt as I entered the new and neatly furnished sitting-room
adjoining the bar, that I had indeed found a comfortable resting-
place after my wearisome journey.

"All as nice as a new pin," said I, approvingly, as I glanced
around the room, up to the ceiling--white as the driven snow--and