Chester was following close at his heels.

“Don’t be alarmed, ladies,” he said, “he shall not harm you.  I’ll take care of that; I have my eye on him all the time; never let him out of my sight.  I am his keeper.”

“But he’s dangerous, isn’t he?” they asked, shrinking from Frank’s approach, as if in great fear.

“Not while I am close at hand,” said Chester.  “I’ll see that he disturbs no one.”

“I think it would be well for us to go now, girls,” said Zoe.  “Let us ask the driver of that stage to take us in; then we’ll be safe from this lunatic.”

They hurried out and in another minute Chester and Frank followed.

Then Edward came in, walked up to the fire and stood leaning against the mantelpiece in seemingly thoughtful mood; but as the lady travelers again appeared at the door, he started and went forward to receive them.

“Walk in, ladies,” he said; “walk into the parlor.  Pray be seated,” handing them chairs.  “Now what can I do for you?”

“You are the innkeeper?” asked Zoe.

“At your service, madam.  Do you wish a room? or rooms?”

“Yes; we will have two; and let them be adjoining, if possible.”

“Certainly, madam; we can accommodate you in that and will be happy to do so.”

Then turning to the spectators, “Can you tell us our word, ladies and gentlemen?” he asked.

“Innkeeper,” was the prompt response from several voices.

“Quite correct,” he said.  Then with a sweeping bow, “This closes our entertainment for the evening, and with many thanks for their kind attention we bid our audience a grateful adieu.”

Half an hour later tea was served, and upon the conclusion of the meal the guests began to take their departure.

The family separated for the night earlier than usual, but Harold and Herbert followed their mother to her dressing-room, asking if she felt too weary for a little chat with them.

“Not at all,” she said with her own sweet smile.  “I know of nothing that would afford me greater satisfaction than one of the oldtime motherly talks with my dear college boys; so come in, my dears, and let us have it.”

Harold drew forward an easy chair for her, but she declined it.  “No, I will sit on the sofa, so that I can have you close to me, one on each side,” she said.

“That will suit your boys, exactly, mamma, if you will be quite as comfortable,” said Herbert, placing a hassock for her feet, as she seated herself.

“Quite,” she returned, giving a hand to each as they placed themselves beside her.  “Now remember that your mother will be glad of your confidence in everything that concerns you, great or small; nothing that interests you or affects your happiness in the very least, can fail to have an interest for her.”

“We know it, dearest mamma,” said Harold, “and are most happy in the assurance that such is the fact.”