Her husband smiled.
"House cleaning, I believe. Bishop undertakes it systematically once a month in the winter."
"Oftener," interjected Thorne. "That is, when the temperature's high enough for him to wash the floor."
"It wasn't high enough on the day in question," Hunter proceeded; "but I understand that he insisted on putting his furniture outside so that he could brush the place thoroughly, and Thorne told him to get the door open and stand carefully clear."
"Well?" Mrs. Hunter prompted.
"Thorne fired the things, you see, as quick as he could lift them; first the chairs and table, then the whole outfit of plates and cups and pots and pans. When he got half-way through, Bishop, who was horror-struck, made a protest. Thorne told him he would have the things put out, and out they were going."
Mrs. Hunter laughed and addressed her guest.
"Did you get a bump on your forehead on that occasion? Still, I suppose one could manage it by falling out of a wagon."
"I didn't," replied Thorne. "For any further particulars about this one I'm afraid you must apply at the settlement; but it seems to me that the subject I'm most anxious to talk about is being tactfully avoided."
"When you have so many friends up and down the prairie, why did you come to Elcot?"