Ticket No. 9672

I

“What time is it?” inquired Dame Hansen, shaking the ashes from her pipe, the last curling rings from which were slowly disappearing between the stained rafters overhead.

“Eight o’clock, mother,” replied Hulda.

“It isn’t likely that any travelers will come tonight. The weather is too stormy.”

“I agree with you. At all events, the rooms are in readiness, and if anyone comes, I shall be sure to hear them.”

“Has your brother returned?”