"Oh, do let me go! What are the doves? I'll promise not to knock them over, and I'll hold Mike tight so she can't get away. Oh, come, oh, come; show me the best room!"
As Mrs. Hickox's parlor was the pride of her life, and as she rarely had opportunity to exhibit it to anybody, she was glad of even a child to show it to. So bidding Fairy be very careful not to touch a thing, she led her through the hall and opened the door of the sacred best room.
It was dark inside, and it smelled a little musty. Mrs. Hickox opened one of the window-blinds for the space of about two inches, but even while she was doing so, Fairy had flown around the room, and flung open all of the other window sashes and blinds. Then before Mrs. Hickox could find words to express her wrath at this desecration, Fairy had begun a running fire of conversation which left her hostess no chance to utter a word.
"Oh, are these the doves? How perfectly lovely!" she cried, pausing on tip-toe in front of a table on which was a strange-shaped urn of white alabaster, filled with gaily-colored artificial flowers. On opposite sides of the rim of the urn were two stuffed white doves, facing each other across the flowers. "Where did you get them? Are they alive? Are they stuffed? What are their eyes made of? Were they your grandmother's? Oh, one of them had his wing broken. You sewed it on again, didn't you? But the stitches show. My sister has some glue, white glue, that would fix that bird up just fine. When I come next Wednesday, I'll bring that glue with me and we'll rip off that wing and fix it up all right."
"Well, I am surprised!" said Mrs. Hickox. "What do children like you know about such things? But still, if you think it would do well, I'd like to try it. I've got a newspaper clipping about that white glue, but I never saw any. Has your grandma unpacked her dress patterns yet?"
"I don't know," said Fairy. "I don't think she has any. We never make our own dresses."
"For the land sake! Why I thought they looked home-made. Well I am surprised! But hurry up and see the room, for I want to get them shutters shut again."
Fairy didn't see anything in the room that interested her greatly. The red-flowered carpet, the stiff black horsehair chairs, and the marble-topped centre-table moved her neither to admiration nor mirth.
"I've seen it all, thank you," she said. "Do you want it shut up again? What do you keep it so shut up for? Do you like to have it all musty and damp? I should think some of your newspaper clippings would tell you to throw open your windows and let in the fresh air and sunshine."
"Why they do say that," said Mrs. Hickox; "but of course I don't take it to mean the best room."