"You see, Twankies, somebody has got to live in this house, haven't they? Well, then, it must be done up, eh? And if I come and live in it some day, I don't want to have to do it up again—see? So there you have it all in a nutshell."
"Yes, I see," said Joan; "but it's a little disappointing."
"It all sounds very reasonable," said Nancy, "but I still think there's more in it than meets the eye."
They were in the great stone-floored kitchen, which still retained its cavernous hearth and open chimney.
"You could roast an ox here," said Dick. "We'll turn this into a servants' hall, Twankies, and rig up the other place for cooking. The cellar's all right, so is the pantry—and big enough for two. We'll divide it up, eh? and one part will do for a brushing-room. There's nowhere at present where a servant can brush your clothes."
"What wonderful domestic knowledge you display, Dick!"' observed Nancy. "Where are the maids to brush their mistresses' clothes? In here with the valets?"
"Yes, of course," said Dick. "This isn't a palace. People who come to stay must expect some inconveniences. I don't see any place for a game larder. We must see about that outside. Now we'll go upstairs."
They went up the broad shallow stairs of age-worn oak, and through the hive of rooms, which opened into one another, and led out into little passages, closets, and stairways in the most confusing way, and made you wonder what scheme of daily life the old builder had in mind when he planned them. He had certainly wasted a great deal of room. The main corridor opened out here and there into broad spaces, where there was perhaps a bookcase, or a low seat under a latticed window, or only the rich emptiness of the square of oak panelling, the polished floor, and the plastered ceiling. Whatever his aims, he had gained his effect of gracious ease and warm shelter. However varied might be the needs of its occupants through the succeeding years, the dower-house would be as much of a home as on the day it was first built.
"A man might make himself very comfortable here, Mr. Copperfield," quoted Nancy, as they stood at a window of the biggest bedroom, which had panels of linen pattern, with a plastered frieze and an oak-beamed ceiling. There was also a heavy carved oak bed, in which Aunt Ellen had recently looked her last upon surroundings that had continually reminded her of the age and importance of the family of which she was a member.
"I shall have all these beastly laurels grubbed up, and some of the trees cut down," said Dick. "The place is like a family vault. And I'm not sure that I won't have this woodwork painted white."