“You might just shut the door,” Aunt Ruth suggested.  “Then if anybody did come in—­”

Uncle Rufus shook his head.  “It’s meant for us,” he asserted with conviction as he climbed into bed.  “He said ‘dressing-room’ and pointed.  The girl’s made a mistake, that’s all.  It’s a good place for my clothes, and I’m going to leave ’em there.  Will you put out the lights?”

Aunt Ruth looked around the wall.  “I can never get used to electric lights at Eleanor’s,” said she.  “And I don’t see the place here, at all.”

She searched for the switches some time in vain, but at length discovered them and succeeded in extinguishing the lights of the room the pair were in.  But the lights of the adjoining rooms still burned with brilliancy.

“Oh, dear!” she sighed softly.  Then she appealed to her husband.

Uncle Rufus, who had nearly fallen asleep while his wife had been searching, spoke without opening his eyes.  “Shut all the doors and leave ’em going,” he advised,

“Oh, no, I can’t do that!  Think of the cost, running all night so.”

“I reckon they can afford it,” he commented drowsily.

But Aunt Ruth continued to hunt, first in the large outer room which looked like a drawing-room, and possessed an elaborate central electrolier whose control, even after she discovered the switch, caused the little lady considerable perplexity.  When she had at length succeeded in extinguishing the illumination she returned, guided by the lights in the other rooms.  The bathroom keys were soon found, and then she applied herself to discovering those in the dressing-room.  These eluded her for some minutes, but at length, all lights being turned off, Aunt Ruth found herself in total darkness.  She groped about in it for some time without success, for the heavy curtains had been closely drawn, and not a ray of light penetrated the spacious rooms from any quarter.  After having followed the wall for what seemed an interminable distance without reaching a recognizable position, she was forced to call to her husband.  He was asleep, and responded only after being many times addressed.  Then he sat up in bed.

“Hey?  What?  What’s the matter?” he inquired anxiously, peering into the darkness.

“Nothing, dear—­only I couldn’t find the bed after I turned the lights out.  Keep on talking, and I’ll work my way to you,” answered his wife’s voice from some distance.

Guided by his voice—­he found plenty to say on the subject of putting people to bed in the midst of large, unfamiliar spaces—­she groped her way to his side.  He put out a gentle hand to welcome her, and as she took her place the two fell to laughing softly over the whole situation.

“Why,” said Uncle Rufus, “for all I’ve slept for forty years in the same room—­and a pretty sizable room I’ve always thought it—­I’ve never got so I could plough a straight furrow through it in the dark.  I reckon a lifetime would be too short to get to know my way round this plantation.”