CHAPTER IV
UNPACKING TRUNKS
“It’s a charming room, Aunt Parthenia!” Dorothea exclaimed, glancing out of the window overlooking the box-edged beds of the flower garden, but noting particularly the cheerful blaze on the hearth. “I shall love it here so much that I shan’t ever want to go away again.”
Mrs. May turned from straightening the curtains at the front where the windows opened on the gallery roof.
“That’s very prettily said, my dear,” she returned. “We shouldn’t like anything better than to have you stay always in your American home.”
There was a suspicion of tears in Dorothea’s eyes as she looked up at her aunt and then, impulsively, she put her arms about the elder woman with a convulsive hug.
“I really have never had a home,” she murmured, half to herself; and Mrs. May, understanding what was in the girl’s heart, patted her shoulder lovingly.
“April is next door to you and I’m just across the hall,” Harriot explained a moment later.
“Where she can look down upon the cook-house, and see just what’s going on,” April said, banteringly.
“Indeed I can,” Harriot admitted unblushingly. “I always know what Aunt Decent is baking by the smells coming in at the windows. You’ll find that my room has decided advantages, Dorothea.”