al was to be held the tenth day of August, and there was
necessarily quick work. The whole village was in an uproar; none of
us who had old-fashioned possessions fairly knew where we were
living, so many of them were in the Shaw house; we were short of
dishes and bureau drawers, and counterpanes and curtains. Mrs.
Jameson never asked for any of these things; she simply took them
as by right of war, and nobody gainsaid her, not even Flora Clark.
However, poor Emily Shaw was the one who displayed the greatest
meekness under provocation. The whole affair must have seemed
revolutionary to her. She was a quiet, delicate little woman, no
longer young. She did not go out much, not even to the sewing circle
or the literary society, and seemed as fond of her home as an animal
of its shell--as if it were a part of her. Old as her house was, she
had it fitted up in a modern, and, to our village ideas, a very
pretty fashion. Emily was quite well-to-do. There were nice tapestry
carpets on all the downstairs floors, lace curtains at the windows,
and furniture covered with red velvet in the parlor. She had also had
the old fireplaces covered up and marble slabs set. There was
handsome carved black walnut furniture in the chambers; and taken
altogether, the old Shaw house was regarded as one of the best
furnished in the village. Mrs. Sim White said she didn't know as she
wondered that Emily didn't like to go away from such nice things.

Now every one of these nice things was hustled out of sight to make
room for the pieces of old-fashioned furniture. The tapestry carpets
were taken up and stowed away in the garrets, the lace curtains
were pulled down. In their stead were the old sanded bare floors
and curtains of homespun linen trimmed with hand-knitted lace.
Emily's nice Marseilles counterpanes were laid aside for the old
blue-and-white ones which our grandmothers spun and wove, and her
fine oil paintings gave way to old engravings of Webster death-bed
scenes and portraits of the Presidents, and samplers. Emily was left
one room to herself--a little back chamber over the kitchen--and she
took her meals at Flora Clark's, next door. She was obliged to do
that, for her kitchen range had been taken down, and there was only
the old fireplace furnished with kettles and crane to cook in.

"I suppose my forefathers used to get all their meals there," said
poor Emily Shaw, who has at all times a gentle, sad way of speaking,
and then seemed o