"Good! Then you'll like my dark little den, with its barbaric reds and
blues."

They were at the gate of the little cottage, overlooking the valley. The
gleam of sunlight had faded and the fog curtain rolled back. The house
did indeed seem very dark as they entered. It was only a little after four
o'clock, but the cloudy twilight of a short November day was suddenly
descending upon them. The schoolmistress looked shyly around, while Arnold
tramped about the rooms and sprung the shades up as high as they would go.

They were in a small, irregular parlor, wainscoted and floored in redwood,
and lightly furnished with bamboo. This room communicated by a low arch
with the dining-room beyond.

"I have some flags and spurs and old trophies to hang up there," he said,
pointing to the arch; "and perhaps I can get you to sew the rings on the
curtain that's to hang underneath. I don't want too much of the society of
my angel from the valley, you know; besides, I want to shield her from the
vulgar gaze, as they do the picture of the Madonna."

"It will serve you right if she never comes at all!"

"Oh, she's pining to come. She's dying to sacrifice herself for twenty-five
dollars a month. Did I tell you, by the way, that I've had a rise in my
salary? There is a rise in the work, too, which rather overbalances the
increase of pay, but that's understood; for a good many years it will be
more work than wage, but at the other end I hope it will be more wage than
work. You don't seem to be very much interested in my affairs; if you knew
how seldom I speak of them to any one but yourself, you might perhaps deign