“But, Mayo!� she said. “It was the Broad Acres ‘office,’ just as The Roost here where you live was the ‘office’ of Osborne’s Rest, and it’s almost as large. There are two big rooms and a little one. Oh! there is room and room enough for Ruth and me.�
“But, Miss Agnes——�
“Oh! Cousin Agnes——�
“Agnes dear——�
“But me no more buts,� she said, laughing through her tears. “It is best; I know it is best for us to make our home there. There’ll not be room for the Red Cross work——�
“We’ll take that,� said Miss Fanny, hastily.
“You wont! I will,� asserted Mr. Tavis.
It was at last decided that the Red Cross workers were to occupy the Miss Morrisons’ spare rooms, and Mr. Tavis was comforted with the promise of furnishing a schoolroom in the autumn.
Mrs. Wilson had her way about living in the cottage in Broad Acres yard, but The Village had its way about furnishing the rooms. At first people came pell-mell, haphazard, with their best and filled the cottage to overflowing. Then Polly Osborne, who was the soul of order and common sense, took charge of things. She made a list of house furnishings that had been saved and of those that were needed, and accepted and rejected offerings accordingly. She sent back several center tables and big clocks and three or four dozen parlor chairs, and asked for kitchen utensils and bed linen.
By nightfall, the little home-to-be contained the choicest offerings of The Village. In the bedroom were the Blairs’ best mahogany wardrobe and bureau, and the Black Mayo Osbornes’ four-poster bedstead arrayed with the Red Mayo Osbornes’ lavendered linen sheets. The kitchen stove had been saved and a procession of housewives had piled up utensils and pantry supplies. In the living room Mr. Tavis’s red plush rocking-chair reposed on the Miss Morrisons’ best rag rug.