The door not being opened immediately, he pounded again. This time a not particularly musical voice was heard from within:—
"Is that you, Jack?"
"No," answered Walter, "it isn't Jack."
His voice was probably recognized as that of a boy, and any apprehension that might have been felt by the person within was dissipated. Walter heard a bolt withdrawn, and the door opening revealed a tall, gaunt, bony woman, who eyed him in a manner which could not be considered very friendly or cordial.
"Who are you?" she demanded abruptly, keeping the door partly closed.
"I am a book-agent," said Walter.
"Do you expect to sell any books here?" asked the woman, with grim humor.
"No," said Walter, "but I have been caught in the storm, and lost my way. Can I stop here over night if the storm should hold on?"
"This isn't a tavern," said the woman, ungraciously.
"No, I suppose not," said Walter; "but it will be a favor to me if you will take me in, and I will pay you whatever you think right. I suppose there is no tavern near by."