ch (doubly qualified) houses, they ought to have
brains enough to get things small enough to get up the (trebly
qualified) stairs.

I could not deny the logic of this statement, impious as were the
qualifying adjectives which were used thereupon. But something had to be
done; we could not put the bedstead together upon the stairway and sleep
upon it there, even were there not other articles of furniture
imperatively demanding a right of way.

"Try to get it down again," said I.

They tried, and, after one mighty effort, succeeded; they also brought
down several square yards of ceiling plaster and the entire handrail of
the stair.

"Think the ceilings of these rooms is high enough to let that bed stand
up?" asked the senior truckman.

I hastily measured the height of the ceilings, and then of the bedstead,
and found the latter nearly eighteen inches too high. Then I called
Sophronia: the bedstead was of her selection, and was an elegant sample
of fine woods and excessive ornamentation. It was a precious bit of
furniture, but time was precious, too. The senior truckman suggested
that the height of the bedstead might be reduced about two feet by the
removal of the most lofty ornament, and that a healthy man could knock
it off with his fist.

"Let it be done," said Sophronia. "What matter? A king discrowned is
still a king at heart."

The senior truckman aimed a deadly blow with a cart-rung, and the
bedstead filled its appointed place. The remaining furniture followed as
fast as could be expected; we soon gave up the idea of getting it all
into the house; but the woodhouse was spacious and easy of access, so we
stowed there important portions of three chamber sets, a gem of a
sideboard, the Turkish chair, which had been ordered for the parlor, and
the hat-rack, which the hall was too small to hold. We also deposited in
the woodhouse all the pictures, in their original packages.

At length the trucks were emptied; the senior truckman smiled sweetly as
I passed a small fee into his hand then he looked thoughtfully at the
roof of the cottage, and remarked:

"It's none of my business, I know; but I hate to see nice things
spiled. I'd watch that roof, ef I was you, the fust time it rained."

I thanked him; he drove off; I turned and accepted the invitation which
was presented by Sophronia's outstretched arms.

"Oh, Pierre!" she exclaimed; "at last we are in our own home! No
uncongenial spirits about us--no one to m