The carpets smelled of camphor as Aunt Rachel unrolled them, for they had been carefully put away from the moths, and proved to be in perfect condition.
The aunties all looked a bit sober, as the small squares were unfolded, for their thoughts flew back nearly forty years, when Rachel and Abbie had been little girls, and Penninah Dana had been a beautiful young woman.
But no such memories saddened the twins’ hearts, and they capered about in glee, shaking out the carpets, and holding them up for inspection.
“This is the parlour one!” cried Dolly, as a light velvety square appeared.
She tucked it into place, and it exactly fitted the parlour floor.
Two bedroom carpets were there; a library and a dining-room,—and the kitchen already had oilcloth on it.
Then came the furniture, and both twins fairly squealed with delight over the funny little things, as they took them from the boxes and put them in place in the rooms of the playhouse.
The dining-room furniture was all of iron.
“That stove,” said Miss Rachel, holding a black iron stove of the shape known as “cylinder,” “father brought me when I was getting well after the measles. ‘You can build a real fire in it,’ he said, ‘it’s a real little stove.’”
“And did you?” asked Dick.