At the most exciting moment came a voice which had to be obeyed:—
"Sam!"
I ran, with my lasso in my hand, toward the house.
"Sam, go right upstairs and wash your hands and face, and brush your hair. Leave that old rope outside,—don't bring it in here."
That old rope!
Before I could make any inquiries, any explanations, I was hustled in, rushed upstairs, forcibly cleaned, lacerated with Dr. Kaltblut's steel-pronged tomahawk (falsely called a hair-brush) and shoved downstairs again.
Here, I was dragged—a whited sepulchre—into a front room, where sat a lady,—a perfect stranger to me, and a little girl.
Toward the smaller and younger of these beings I was propelled.
"Here, Alice, this is Sam. Sam, this is little Alice Remick, who is going to be your neighbor. I want you to be nice to her, and play with her this afternoon, and entertain her."