," laughed Hartley, a tall, alert, handsome fellow nearly
thirty years of age.

After a short and vigorous "blowing up," Albert asked: "Well, now,
what's the meaning of all this, anyhow? Why this change from Racine?"

"Well, you see, I got wind of another fellow going to work this county
for a _Life of Logan_, and thinks I, 'By jinks! I'd better drop in ahead
of him with Blaine's _Twenty Tears_.' I telegraphed f'r territory, got
it, and telegraphed to stop you."

"You did it. When did you come down?"

"Last night, six o'clock."

Albert was getting warmer and better-natured.

"Well, I'm here; what are you going t' do with me?"

"I'll use you some way. First thing is to find a boarding-place where we
can work in a couple o' books on the bill."

"Well, I don't know about that, but I'm going to look up a place a
brakeman gave me a pointer on."

"All right; here goes!"

Scarcely any one was stirring on the streets. The wind was pitilessly
cold, though not strong. The snow under their feet cried out with a note
like glass and steel. The windows of the stores were thick with frost,
and Albert shivered with a sense of homelessness. He had never
experienced anything like this before. "I don't want much of this," he
muttered, through his scarf.

Mrs. Welsh lived in a large frame house standing on the edge of a bank,
and as the young men waited at the door they could look down on the
meadow-land, where the river lay blue and hard as steel.

A pale little girl, ten or twelve years of age, opened the door.

"Is this where Mrs. Welsh lives?"

"Yes, sir."

"Will you ask her to come here a moment?"

"Yes, sir," piped the little one. "Won't you come in and sit down by the
fire?" she added, with a quaint air of hospitality.

The room was the usual village sitting-room. A cylinder heater full of
wood stood at one side of it. A rag carpet, much faded, covered the
floor. The paper on the wall was like striped candy, and the chairs were
nondescript; but everything was clean--worn more with brushing than with
use.

A slim woman of fifty, with hollow eyes and a patient smile, came in,
wiping her hands on her apron.

"How d'ye do? Did you want to see me?"

"Yes," said Hartley, smiling. "The fact is, we're book agents, and
looking for a place to board."

"Well--a--I--yes, I keep boarders."

"I was sent here by a brakeman on the midnight express," put in Bert,

"Oh, Tom," said the woman, her face clearing. "Tom's alw