On one side it read: FLIES' AND WASPS' HOTEL.
On the other: HUNDRED-LEGGERS' AND RED-ANTS' HOUSE.
"You see," said euphemia, "if any individuals mentioned thereon apply for accommodation, we can say we are full." This sign hung triumphantly for several days, when one morning, just as we had finished breakfast, we were surprised to hear the stage stop at the door, and before we could go out to see who had arrived, into the room came our own stage-driver, as we used to call him.

He had actually left his team to come and see us.
"I just thought I'd stop an' tell ye," said he, "that ef ye don't look out, Bill'll get ye inter trouble.

He's bound to git the best o' ye, an' I heared this mornin', at Lowry's, that he's agoin' to bring the county clerk up here to-morrow, to see about yer license fur keepin' a hotel.
He says ye keep changin' yer signs, but that don't differ to him, for he kin prove ye've kept travelers overnight, an' ef ye haven't got no license he'll make the county clerk come down on ye heavy, I'm sure o' that, fur I know Bill.

An' so, I thought I'd stop an' tell ye." I thanked him, and admitted that this was a rather serious view of the case.

Euphemia pondered a moment.