e
of the little boys had left at home the keys, in the pocket of his
clothes. Meanwhile, the carpet woman had waited, and the boy with the
wheelbarrow had waited, and when they got in they found the parlor must
be swept and cleaned. So the carpet woman went off in dudgeon, for she
was sure there would not be time enough to do anything.

And one of the carts came again, and in their hurry the men set the
furniture down anywhere. Elizabeth Eliza was hoping to make a little
place in the dining-room where they might have their supper and go home
to sleep. But she looked out, and there were the carters bringing the
bedsteads, and proceeding to carry them upstairs.

In despair Elizabeth Eliza went back to the old house. If she had been
there she might have prevented this. She found Mrs. Peterkin in an
agony about the entry oil-cloth. It had been made in the house, and how
could it be taken out of the house? Agamemnon made measurements; it
certainly could not go out of the front door! He suggested it might be
left till the house was pulled down, when it could easily be moved out
of one side. But Elizabeth Eliza reminded him that the whole house was
to be moved without being taken apart. Perhaps it could be cut in
strips narrow enough to go out. One of the men loading the remaining
cart disposed of the question by coming in and rolling up the oil-cloth
and carrying it off on top of his wagon.

Elizabeth Eliza felt she must hurry back to the new house. But what
should they do?--no beds here, no carpets there! The dining-room table
and sideboard were at the other house, the plates and forks and spoons
here. In vain she looked at her programme. It was all reversed,
everything was misplaced. Mr. Peterkin would suppose they were to eat
there and sleep here, and what had become of the little boys?

Meanwhile, the man with the first cart had returned. They fell to
packing the dining-room china. They were up in the attic, they were
down in the cellar. Even one of them suggested to take the tacks out of
the parlor carpets, as they should want to take them next. Mrs.
Peterkin sunk upon a kitchen chair.

"Oh, I wish we had decided to stay and be moved in the house!" she
exclaimed.

Solomon John urged his mother to go to the new house, for Mr. Peterkin
would be there for his "quiet hour." And when the carters at last
appeared carrying the parlor carpets on their shoulders she sighed and
said, "There is nothing left," and meekly cons