Drizzling rain came on, and our drive was cut short. As I went upstairs I met Thyrza, and she said, "You haven't seen my room yet?"
"No," I answered. "Will you show it to me now?"
Thyrza followed me into my own room, where I removed bonnet and jacket. Then it was that she explained the sleeping arrangements of the family, ending with the ejaculation, "Anything to have a corner to myself!"
"I can understand your wish," I said.
"Can you? Nobody else does. Mother gave way; but she doesn't like my wanting it."
"You have a cosy corner, at all events!" I said, as we entered, glancing round upon the variety of odd knick-knacks and curiosities which adorned the walls of the narrow chamber, or were crowded upon shelves and brackets. Framed photographs and unframed paintings alternated with porcelain figures, china plates, and Japanese fans; and every available space seemed to be filled up with an assortment of quaint cups and teapots, stuffed birds, nursery toys, geologic specimens, everlasting flowers, dried grasses, bulrushes, strings of beads, draped scarves, Swiss sabots, German carvings, and what not! Such a heterogeneous collection in so small a space I had never come across before. The little iron bed was at one end, the fireplace at the other, the window on one side between, looking towards the north-east.
One corner, near the fireplace, seemed to be given up to sacred subjects. Two framed illuminated texts flanked an exquisite engraving of Holman Hunt's "Light of the World;" around the simple Oxford frame of which was entwined a spray of ivy. Beneath the engraving stood a small table; and on the table lay a Bible, a Church Service, a handsome copy of "The Christian Year," Thomas à Kempis' "Imitation," and two or three other volumes.
"Do you like the room?" asked Thyrza.
"I like anything characteristic," I answered. "Some day you must let me into all the secrets of your curiosity-shop."
"Would you care? That will be nice."