"You see," resumed my mother, "we thought you were going to be an elder—and we were going to put him in the attic," the dread tidings coming at last with a splash. "And we do hope you won't mind, Mr. Laird—you see if we had ever thought——"
"We won't make any apologies to our guest," my uncle now broke in, his tone indicating that he wouldn't object to being heard. "You're welcome as the flowers in May, Mr. Laird—and there's a fireplace in your room in the attic. I may be wrong, but it's always seemed to me if a fellow's got a welcome and an open fire, the attic's just as good as the parlour."
Mr. Laird looked delighted. "I'm in love with it already," he responded gleefully; "I wouldn't trade it for any room in the house. I couldn't imagine," he went on mirthfully, "what was coming. I thought it must be the dog-kennel, or a dark closet, or a wood-shed; but an attic—and a fireplace! Why, bless my heart, there's nothing in the world I love like an attic—secluded, lofty, roomy—it's the best place in the house. Let us see it now."
"Where's Moses?" said my uncle; "he'll take your valise up for you. It's plain, but it's comfortable, Mr. Laird. And if you like it, there's just one way I want you to show it."
"And what might that be?" asked our visitor.
"Don't be in any hurry about leaving," said my uncle with serious air.
"No, we'll think you don't like it if you are," chimed in my aunt.
"Where's Moses?" asked uncle again.
"I don't know where Moses is," said the Reverend Gordon Laird, his face as sober as a judge, "but one thing I do know—I've heard of Southern hospitality, and the half was never told."
Uncle bowed; Aunt Agnes smiled graciously. As for me, I had disappeared.