some weighty
consideration. Her knitting-work lay idle in her lap; and she did not
even notice that little Tillie had pulled two of the needles out, nor
that mischievous Nick was sawing away on the back of her chair with
his antiquated pocket-knife. Whatever the problem was, it troubled her
all the forenoon; but after dinner she followed John to the door, and,
said she, "I've been thinking, John, couldn't I have a little room
somewhere all to myself? I'm going on seventy-eight now, you know, and
the children get pretty noisy sometimes; and I thought, maybe, if it
wouldn't be too much trouble--" "Hem! Well, really, grandma'm,"
taking off his hat and scratching his head dubiously, "the children do
make a precious hubbub here, that's a fact. But I declare! Well, I'll
see." And John went to the field.

As result of the "seeing," on the next rainy day there was heard the
noise of hammer and saw in a chamber over the kitchen. This chamber
had never been finished or used save as a place in which to store old
rubbish of all kinds, and was a gloomy, out-of-the-way room at best.
Grandmother Lyman looked rather sober over the prospect; and Phoebe
wanted to interfere, but as that was against the rules of the house,
John worked on in his own way, until, at the end of two days, and
after Phoebe had made several journeys up and down the back-stairs,
grandmother was told that her room was ready. The dear old lady
dragged herself up to the little chamber, while two little tots came
scrambling after, bearing her Bible, hymn-book, Wesley's Sermons, and
knitting-work. But it was no "palace of beauty" which she found
awaiting her. The room was low, slanting on one side, unpapered,
uncarpeted, and only lighted by two little dormer-windows, which did
their best to admit pure daylight in spite of the dark gingham
curtains so trimly hung before them. A bed stood in one corner, before
which was a braided rug, while a stove with two good legs occupied the
center of the room.

Grandmother looked out at the windows, but the view was not pleasant;
two barns, the watering trough, and the fashionable summer resort of
the ducks and geese, that was all. She was not one to complain; but
she sadly missed the grand sweep of mountain and valley which had
greeted her eyes from the "fore-door" ever since she was brought there
a happy bride. Turning to arrange her books on the little table, she
sang, in her wavering way,

"Thus far the Lord hath led me