"I've got it," she exclaimed.
"Got what?" asked her mother.
"The feather bed. A great big fat one. It's down on the front porch. Where do you want it, Miss Roxy?"
"If it doesn't rain, it may as well stay where it is. I can begin on the pillows in the morning. I hope you remembered to get some new ticking."
"Yes, I did; a whole lot. I left it under the seat of the buggy, but I'll get it. How are you going to trim that waist, Miss Roxy?"
"With this lace." The seamstress laid strips of the trimming on the material and noted the effect with appreciative eye.
"Feather beds are very much like some people," said Janet, watching Miss Roxy's deft fingers.
"How do you make that out?" asked the needlewoman.
"Oh, they are lumpy and heavy and soft, and you think you can manage them till you try, and then you find they are so obstinate that you can't budge them, and if you insist on having them do your way, the first thing you know you are completely overwhelmed."
Miss Roxy laughed. "I reckon you are thinking of your Aunt Minerva. Was she hard to move?"