“We got a billiard-table over from Stockton,” half bashfully interrupted Dick Mattingly, struggling from his end of the trunk to recover his composure, “and it had to be brought over in sections on the back of a mule, so I don’t see why—­” He stopped short again in confusion, at a sign from his brother, and then added, “I mean, of course, that a piano is a heap more delicate, and valuable, and all that sort of thing, but it’s worth trying for.”

“Fairfax was always saying he’d get one for himself, so I reckon it’s possible,” said Joe.

“Does he play?” asked Christie.

“You bet,” said Joe, quite forgetting himself in his enthusiasm.  “He can snatch Mozart and Beethoven bald-headed.”

In the embarrassing silence that followed this speech the fringe of pine wood nearest the flat was reached.  Here there was a rude “clearing,” and beneath an enormous pine stood the two recently joined tenements.  There was no attempt to conceal the point of junction between Kearney’s cabin and the newly-transported saloon from the flat—­no architectural illusion of the palpable collusion of the two buildings, which seemed to be telescoped into each other.  The front room or living room occupied the whole of Kearney’s cabin.  It contained, in addition to the necessary articles for housekeeping, a “bunk” or berth for Mr. Carr, so as to leave the second building entirely to the occupation of his daughters as bedroom and boudoir.

There was a half-humorous, half-apologetic exhibition of the rude utensils of the living room, and then the young men turned away as the two girls entered the open door of the second room.  Neither Christie nor Jessie could for a moment understand the delicacy which kept these young men from accompanying them into the room they had but a few moments before decorated and arranged with their own hands, and it was not until they turned to thank their strange entertainers that they found that they were gone.

The arrangement of the second room was rude and bizarre, but not without a singular originality and even tastefulness of conception.  What had been the counter or “bar” of the saloon, gorgeous in white and gold, now sawn in two and divided, was set up on opposite sides of the room as separate dressing-tables, decorated with huge bunches of azaleas, that hid the rough earthenware bowls, and gave each table the appearance of a vestal altar.

The huge gilt plate-glass mirror which had hung behind the bar still occupied one side of the room, but its length was artfully divided by an enormous rosette of red, white, and blue muslin—­one of the surviving Fourth of July decorations of Thompson’s saloon.  On either side of the door two pathetic-looking, convent-like cots, covered with spotless sheeting, and heaped up in the middle, like a snow-covered grave, had attracted their attention.  They were still staring at them when Mr. Carr anticipated their curiosity.

“I ought to tell you that the young men confided to me the fact that there was neither bed nor mattress to be had on the Ford.  They have filled some flour sacks with clean dry moss from the woods, and put half a dozen blankets on the top, and they hope you can get along until the messenger who starts to-night for La Grange can bring some bedding over.”