Otter should occupy the best bedroom on the ground floor. The
result was eminently unsatisfactory, for Big Otter was not accustomed to
best bedrooms. Eve conducted the Indian to his room. He cared nothing
for his comfort, and was prepared humbly to do whatever he was bid. He
silently followed her and looked round the room with open-mouthed wonder
as she pointed to his bed and, with a pleasant nod, left him.

Resting his gun in a corner--for he never parted with that weapon night
or day--and laying his powder-horn and shot-pouch on the ground, he drew
his tomahawk and scalping-knife, and was about to deposit them beside
the horn, when his eye suddenly fell on a gigantic Indian crouching, as
if on the point of springing on him. Like lightning he sprang erect.
Then an expression of intense humility and shame covered his grave
features on discovering that a large mirror had presented him with a
full-length portrait of himself! A sort of pitiful smile curled his lip
as he took off his hunting coat. Being now in his ordinary sleeping
costume he approached the bed, but did not like the look of it. No
wonder! Besides being obviously too short, it had white curtains with
frills or flounces of some sort, with various tags and tassels around,
and it did not look strong. He sat cautiously down on the side of it,
however, and put one leg in. The sheets felt unpleasant to his naked
foot, but not being particular, he shoved it in, and was slowly letting
himself down on one elbow, when the bed creaked!

This was enough. Big Otter was brave to rashness in facing known
danger, but he was too wise to risk his body on the unknown! Drawing
forth his leg he stood up again, and glanced round the room. There was
a small dressing-table opposite the bed; beside it was the large glass
which had given him such a surprise. Further on a washhand-stand with a
towel-rack beside it, but there was no spot on which he could stretch
his bulky frame save the middle of the floor. Calmly he lay down on
that, having previously pulled off all the bedclothes in a heap and
selected therefrom a single blanket. Pillowing his head on a footstool,
he tried to sleep, but the effort was vain. There was a want of air--a
dreadful silence, as if he had been buried alive--no tinkling of water,
or rustling of leaves, or roar of cataract. It was insupportable. He
got up and tried to open the door, but the handle was a mystery which he
could not unriddle.