"I vow," Temperance exclaimed, "the nails are put in crooked! And I stood over Dexter the whole time. He said it was damned nonsense, and that you must be awfully spoiled to want such a thing. 'You get your pay, Dexter,' says I, 'for what you do, don't you?' 'I guess I do,' says he, and then he winked. 'None of your gab,' says I. I do believe that man is a cheat and a rascal, I vow I do. But they are all so."
"In my young days," Aunt Merce remarked, "young girls were not allowed to have fires in their chambers."
"In our young days, Mercy," mother replied, "we were not allowed to have much of anything."
"Fires are not wholesome to sleep by," Temperance added.
"Miss Veronica never has a fire," piped Fanny, who had remained, occasionally making a stir with the tongs.
"But she ought to have!" Temperance exclaimed vehemently. "I do wonder, Mis Morgeson, that you do not insist upon it, though it's none of my business."
Father was conducted upstairs, after supper. The fire was freshly made; the shaded lamp on the table before the sofa and the easy-chair pleased him. He came often afterward, and stayed so long, sometimes, that I fell asleep, and found him there, when I woke, still smoking and watching the fire.
Veronica looked in at bed-time. "I recognize you here," she said as she passed. But she came back in a few moments in a wrapper, with a comb in her hand, and stood on the hearth combing her hair, which was longer than a mermaid's. The fire was grateful to her, and I believe that she was surprised at the fact.
"Why not have a fire in your room, Verry?"
"A fire would put me out. One belongs in this room, though. It is the only reality here."