“Jest as nice as can be, daughter,--and ain’t this room pretty?” returned the little old woman eagerly. “Do you know, it seems kind of natural like; mebbe it’s because of that chair there. Seth says it’s almost like his at home.”
It was a good beginning, and Mrs. John made the most of it. Under her skillful guidance Grandma Burton, in less than five minutes, had gone from the chair to the old clock which her father used to wind, and from the clock to the bureau where she kept the dead twins’ little white shoes and bonnets. She told, too, of the cherished parlor chairs and marble-topped table, and of how she and father had saved and saved for years to buy them; and even now, as she talked, her voice rang with pride of possession--though only for a moment; it shook then with the remembrance of loss.
There was no complaint, it is true, no audible longing for lost treasures. There was only the unwonted joy of pouring into sympathetic ears the story of things loved and lost--things the very mention of which brought sweet faint echoes of voices long since silent.
“There, there,” broke off the little old woman at last, “how I am runnin’ on! But, somehow, somethin’ set me to talkin’ ter-day. Mebbe’t was that chair that’s like yer father’s,” she hazarded.
“Maybe it was,” agreed Mrs. John quietly, as she rose to her feet.
The new house came on apace. In a wonderfully short time John Burton began to urge his wife to see about rugs and hangings. It was then that Mrs. John called him to one side and said a few hurried but very earnest words--words that made the Honorable John open wide his eyes.
“But, Edith,” he remonstrated, “are you crazy? It simply couldn’t be done! The things are scattered over half a dozen townships; besides, I haven’t the least idea where the auctioneer’s list is--if I saved it at all.”
“Never mind, dear; I may try, surely,” begged Mrs. John. And her husband laughed and reached for his check-book.
“Try? Of course you may try! And here’s this by way of wishing you good luck,” he finished, as he handed her an oblong bit of paper that would go far toward smoothing the most difficult of ways.
“You dear!” cried Mrs. John. “And now I’m going to work.”