"Very gladly," Grace said, "for I'm very proud of it."
"Didn't I tell you?" whispered the tormentor.
"Everything in the parlor, except the piano, which is the ugliest thing in it," Grace continued, "cost less than twenty dollars."
"Sho!" exclaimed one woman, incredulously. "Why, that's no more money than Squire Burress paid for the sofy that his gals is courted on, for Mis' Burress told me the price o' that sofy herself, an' showed me the bill to prove it."
"I've no bills to show," Grace said, with a laugh, "for the largest articles are made of scraps, such as my husband gives away to any one who asks for them. See here—" as she spoke she turned a chair upside down to show that its basis was a barrel. Then she raised the drapery of a divan to show the unpainted boxes beneath. "The matting on the floor is three times as cheap as rag carpet. You can buy the window hangings in the store at fifteen cents a yard—though don't imagine I'm trying to advertise the goods. All the furniture covers are of cheap bedquilt chintzes. Examine everything, ladies; for, as I've already said, I'm very proud of my cheap little parlor."
"You didn't say nothin' about the cost of the labor," said the tormentor.
"True," Grace admitted, "but I can reckon it with very little trouble, for I did it all myself; I've no grown sons and daughters, like some of you, so I did it alone. Besides my time it cost me—well, to be exact, one thumb bruised with the hammer; one finger ditto; a bad scratch on one hand, caused by a saw slipping; half a day of pain in one eye, into which I blew some sawdust; two sore knees, got while putting down the matting; and one twisted ankle—I accidentally stepped from a box while tacking a picture to the wall."
"Well, I'm clean beat out o' my senses!" confessed one guest. "I never heerd tell that they learned such work to women in cities."
"Perhaps they don't," Grace said, "but I learned most of it when I was a country girl in western New York."
"What? You a country gal?"