"Oh, my dear dears!"
"Mother, come in now and see everything!" (This from Kirk, anxious to exhibit what he himself had never seen.)
"Come and take your things off--oh, you do look so well, dear."
"Look at the nice view!"
"Don't you think it looks like a real house, even if we did get it?"
"Oh, children dear! let me gather my poor scattered wits."
So Mrs. Sturgis was lovingly pulled and pushed and steered into the dusky little living-room, where a few pieces of Westover Street furniture greeted her strangely, and where a most jolly fire burned on the hearth. Felicia removed her mother's hat; Ken put her into the big chair and spirited away her bag. Mrs. Sturgis sat gazing about her--at the white cheese-cloth curtains, the festive bunches of flowers in every available jug, the kitchen chairs painted a decorative blue, and at the three radiant faces of her children.
Kirk, who was plainly bursting with some plan, pulled his sister's sleeve.
"Phil," he whispered loudly, "do you think now would be a good time to do it!"
"What? Oh--yes! Yes, go ahead, to be sure," said Felicia.