overed with the
same; the ascetic aspect of my two hair-cloth arm-chairs was entirely
concealed. The walls were painted amber color, and varnished. There
were no pictures but the shining shadows. A row of shelves covered
with blue damask was on one side, and my tall mirror on the other. The
doors were likewise covered with blue damask, nailed round with brass
nails. When I had nothing else to do I counted the nails. The wooden
mantel shelf, originally painted in imitation of black marble, I
covered with damask, and fringed it. I sent Fanny down for mother and
Aunt Merce. They declared, at once, they were stifled; too many things
in the room; too warm; too dark; the fringe on the mantel would catch
fire and burn me up; too much trouble to take care of it. What was
under the carpet that made it so soft and the steps so noiseless? How
nice it was! Temperance, who had been my aid, arrived at this juncture
and croaked.

"Did you ever see such a stived-up hole, Mis Morgeson?"

"I like it now," she answered, "it is so comfortable. How lovely this
blue is!"

"It's a pity she wont keep the blinds shut. The curtains will fade to
rags in no time; the sun pours on 'em."

"How could I watch the sea then?" I asked.

"Good Lord! it's a mystery to me how you can bother over that salt
water."

"And the smell of the sea-weed," added Aunt Merce.

"And its thousand dreary cries," said mother.

"Do you like my covered doors?" I inquired.

"I vow," Temperance exclaimed, "the nails are put in crooked! And I
stood over Dexter the whole time. He said it was damned nonsense, and
that you must be awfully spoiled to want such a thing. 'You get your
pay, Dexter,' says I, 'for what you do, don't you?' 'I guess I do,'
says he, and then he winked. 'None of your gab,' says I. I do believe
that man is a cheat and a rascal, I vow I do. But they are all so."

"In my young days," Aunt Merce remarked, "young girls were not allowed
to have fires in their chambers."

"In our young days, Mercy," mother replied, "_we_ were not allowed to
have much of anything."

"Fires are not wholesome to sleep by," Temperance added.

"Miss Veronica never has a fire," piped Fanny, who had remained,
occasionally making a stir with the tongs.

"But she ought to have!" Temperance exclaimed vehemently. "I do
wonder, Mis Morgeson, that you do not insist upon it, though it's none
of my business."

Father was conducted upstairs, after supper. The fire was freshly