Conly bore it without flinching; and extending his hand, his uncle replied, "I think I understand the situation: but I will trust you, Cal, and not fear that in entertaining you here I am harboring a hypocrite and spy who may betray my family and myself into the hands of midnight assassins." "Thanks, uncle, you shall never have cause to repent of your confidence," the lad answered with a flush of honest pride.
He returned to Roselands the next day, and went directly to an upper room, at some distance from those usually occupied by the family, from whence came the busy hum of a sewing machine.
The door was securely fastened on the inner side, but opened immediately in response to three quick, sharp taps of a pencil which Calhoun took from his pocket.
It was his mother's face that looked cautiously out upon him.

"Oh, you have returned," she said in an undertone; "well, come in.

I'm glad to see you." He stepped in, and she locked the door again, and sitting down, resumed the work, which it seemed had been laid aside to admit him.

She was making odd looking rolls of cotton cloth; stuffing them with cotton wool.
Mrs.Johnson, the only other person present, was seated before the sewing machine, stitching a seam in a long garment of coarse, white linen.
"How d'ye do, Cal ?" she said, looking up for an instant to give him a nod.
He returned the greeting, and taking a chair by Mrs.Conly's side, "All well, mother ?" he asked.
"Quite.

You're just in time to tell me whether these are going to look right.