John brought word that Fred’s father was going to repair the mill, and that while that was going on, Fred would like to come over and see Charles, and learn to make baskets. Charles sent word back that it would be agreeable to him to have him come. He was now quite excited. Here was company coming, and nowhere for them to sleep but on the floor. There were but two bedsteads in the house,—one in the kitchen, where Ben and his wife slept, and the other in the front room, where Joe slept. This was the spare bed, and the best room, though it was made a workshop of, and was half full of shingles and staves; but they could do no better.
Charlie, as usual, went to Sally for counsel.
“I should not care for him,” said she; “I should as lief he would sleep on the floor as not. If you give him as good as you have yourself, that is good enough.”
“But, mother, I shouldn’t want him to go home and say that he came to see me, and had to sleep on the floor; besides, John might hear of it, and then he wouldn’t like to come.”
“John! he’d sleep on the door-steps, or a brush-heap, and think it was beautiful. I’ll tell you; I’ll ask Joe to sleep in your bed, and let you and Fred have the front room.”
“O, no, mother! I’m afraid he won’t like it; and then he will play some trick on us. I have thought of a plan, mother.”
“Let us hear it.”
“There are some yellow-birch joist up chamber, all curly, with real handsome whorls in them. I think I could make a bedstead of them; and then, you know, it would be my own, and we should have it if any company came. I have got an auger that I borrowed of Uncle Isaac, to bore the holes for the cord, and the earings on the sails that came ashore would make a nice cord.”
“I would, Charlie; that will be a first-rate plan.”
“But I don’t like to ask father for the wood. He has saved it to make something, and perhaps I might spoil it, and not make a bedstead after all.”