She bustled out.  Bennington had time then to notice the decorations of the “parlour.”  They offered to the eye a strange mixture of the East and West—­reminiscences of the old home in “Illinoy” and trophies of the new camping-out on the frontier.  From the ceiling hung a heavy lamp with prismatic danglers, surrounded by a globe on which were depicted stags in the act of leaping six-barred gates.  By way of complement to this gorgeous centrepiece, the paper on the walls showed, in infinitely recurring duplicate, a huntress in green habit and big hat carrying on a desperate flirtation with a young man in the habiliments of the fifteenth century, while across the background a huddle of dogs pursued a mammoth deer.  Mathematically beneath the lamp stood a table covered with a red-figured spread.  On the table was a glass bell, underneath which were wax flowers and a poorly-stuffed robin.  In one angle of the room austerely huddled a three-cornered “whatnot” of four shelves.  Two china pugs and a statuette of a simpering pair of children under a massive umbrella adorned this article of furniture.  On the wall ticked an old-fashioned square wooden clock.  The floor was concealed by a rag carpet.  So much for the East.  The West contributed brilliant green copper ore, flaky white tin ore, glittering white quartz ore, shining pyrites, and one or two businesslike specimens of oxygenated quartz, all of which occupied points of exhibit on the “whatnot.”  Over the carpet were spread a deer skin, and a rug made from the hide of a timber wolf.  Bennington found all this interesting but depressing.  He was glad when Mrs. Lawton returned and took up her voluble discourse.

In the midst of a dissertation on the relation of corn meal to eggs the door opened, and Mr. Lawton sidled in.

“Oh, here y’ are at last!” observed his spouse scornfully, and rattled on.  Lawton nodded awkwardly, and perched himself on the edge of a chair.  He had assumed an ill-fitting suit of store clothes, in which he unaccustomedly writhed, and evidently, to judge from the sleekness of his hair, had recently plunged his head in a pail of water.  He said nothing, but whenever Mrs. Lawton was not looking he winked elaborately and solemnly at Bennington as though to imply that circumstances alone prevented any more open show of cordiality.  At last, catching the young man’s eye at a more than usually propitious moment, he went through the pantomime of opening a bottle, then furtively arose and disappeared.  Mrs. Lawton, remembering her cakes, ran out.  Bennington was left alone again.  He had not spoken six words.

The door slowly opened, and another member of the family sidled in.  Bennington owned a helpless feeling that this was a sort of show, and that these various actors in it were parading their entrances and their exits before him.  Or that he himself were the object of inspection on whom the others were satisfying their own curiosity.