"Oh, nothing," said Marjory. "I just happened to remember how you scrubbed that bedroom floor."
From four to six on Monday afternoon, the little housekeepers, heavily burdened each time with their goods and chattels, made many small journeys between their homes and Dandelion Cottage. The parlor was soon piled high with furniture that was all more or less battered.
"Dear me," said Jean, pausing at the door with an armful of carpet. "How am I ever to get in? Hadn't we better straighten out what we have before we bring anything more?"
"Yes," said Bettie. "I wouldn't be surprised if we had almost enough for two houses. I'm sure I've seen six clocks."
"That's only one for each room," said Mabel. "Besides, none of the four that I brought will go."
"Neither will my two," said Marjory, giggling.
"We might call this 'The House of the Tickless Clocks,'" suggested Jean.
"Or of the grindless coffee-mill," giggled Marjory.
"Or of the talkless telephone," added Mabel. "I brought over an old telephone box so we could pretend we had a telephone."
There were still several things lacking when the children had found places for all their crippled belongings. They had no couch for the sofa pillows Mabel had brought, but Bettie converted two wooden boxes and a long board into an admirable cozy corner. She even upholstered this sadly misnamed piece of furniture with the burlaps and excelsior that had been packed about her father's new desk, but it still needed a cover. The windows lacked curtains, the girls had only one fork, and their cupboard was so distressingly empty that it rivaled Mother Hubbard's.