Imagine now, if you can, the look of this lady's face, as they made their way with much difficulty down the long room, and looked about them on either side for heats.

"A hotel, indeed!" she said, in utter contempt and disgust, as one of the attendants signaled them and politely drew back the long board seat that did duty in the place of chairs, and answered for five, or, if you were good natured and crowded, for six people. He was just as polite in his attentions as if the unplaned seat had been a carved chair of graceful shape and pattern. One would suppose that Ruth might have taken a hint from his example. But the truth is, she belonged to that class of people who are so accustomed to polite attentions that it is only their absence which calls forth remark.

"The idea of naming this horrid, dirty old lumber-room a hotel!" and she carefully and disdainfully spread her waterproof cloak on the seat before she took it.

Eurie's merry laugh rang out until others looked and smiled in sympathy with her fun, whatever it was.

"What in the world did you expect, Ruthie? I declare, you are too comical! I verily believe you expected Brussels carpets, and mirrors in which you could admire yourself all the while you were eating."

"I expected a hotel," Ruth said, in no wise diminishing her lofty tone. "That is what is advertised, and people naturally do not look for so much deception in a religious gathering. This is nothing in the world but a shanty."

Chautauqua was doing one thing for this young lady which surprised and annoyed her. It was helping her to get acquainted with herself. Up to this time she had looked upon herself as a person of smooth and even temperame