Solomon hesitated.

“He must, Aunt Thankful,” urged Emily; “he really must.”

The visitor turned to stare at her.

“Who are you?” he demanded, ungraciously.  Then, as another chill racked him from head to foot, he added:  “I don’t care.  Take me somewheres and give me somethin’—­ginger tea or—­or kerosene or anything else, so it’s hot.  I—­I’m—­sho—­oo—­ook all to—­pi—­ic—­ces.”

They led him to the kitchen, where Thankful prepared the ginger tea.  During its preparation she managed to inform Emily concerning the identity of their unexpected lodger.  Solomon, introduced to Miss Howes, merely grunted and admitted that he had “heard tell” of her.  His manner might have led a disinterested person to infer that what he had heard was not flattering.  He drank his tea, and as he grew warmer inside and out his behavior became more natural, which does not mean that it was either gracious or grateful.

At length he asked what time it was.  Thankful told him.

“I think you’d better be gettin’ to bed, Solomon,” she suggested.  “I’ll hunt up one of Mr. Caleb Hammond’s nightshirts, and while you’re sleepin’ your wet clothes can be dryin’ here by the cookstove.”

Solomon grunted, but he was, apparently, willing to retire.  Then came the question as to where he should sleep.  Emily offered a suggestion.

“Why don’t you put him in the back room, Auntie,” she said.  “The one Miss Timpson used to have.  That isn’t occupied now and the bed is ready.”

Thankful hesitated.  “I don’t know’s he’d better have that room, Emily,” she said.

“Why not?  I’m sure it’s a very nice room.”

“Yes, I know it is, but—­”

“But what?”

Mr. Cobb had a remark to make.

“Well, come on, come on,” he said, testily.  “Put me somewheres and do it quick.  Long’s I’ve got to sleep in this house I might’s well be doin’ it.  Where is this room you’re talkin’ about?  Let’s see it.”

Emily took the lamp and led the way up the back stairs.  Solomon followed her and Thankful brought up the rear.  She felt a curious hesitancy in putting even her disagreeable relative in that room on this night.  Around the gables and upon the roof the storm whined and roared as it had the night when she first explored that upper floor.  And she remembered, now, that it had stormed, though not as hard, the night when Miss Timpson received her “warning.”  If there were such things as ghosts, and if the little back bedroom was haunted, a night like this was the time for spectral visitations.  She had half a mind to give Mr. Cobb another room.

But, before she could decide what to do, before the struggle between her common-sense and what she knew were silly forebodings was at an end, the question was decided for her.  Solomon had entered the large room and expressed his approval of it.

“This’ll do first rate,” he said.  “Why didn’t you want to put me in here?  Suppose you thought ’twas too good for me, eh?  Well, it might be for some folks, but not for me.  What’s that, a closet?”