"No furnace, of course, to warm the house, and—ugh!—I don't believe the town knows of the existence of coal, for both stoves at the store are fed with wood."
"So they were, and—oh, I see! Here are fireplaces in the sitting-room—or hall, I suppose I should say—and in the parlor! Think how unutterably we longed for the unattainable—that is, an open wood fire—in our little flat in the city!"
"But, dear girl, a fireplace grows cold at night."
"Quite likely; but don't you suppose the principal merchant in town could economize on something so as to afford enough quilts and blankets to keep his family from freezing to death while they sleep?"
"You angel, you've all the brains of the family. Where did you learn so much about houses? And about what to do when you don't find what you want in them? And who taught you?"
"I suppose necessity taught me," Grace replied, with a laugh, "and within the past few minutes, too. For, don't you see, we must live in this house. There seems to be no other place for us. And I suppose 'tis instinct for women, rather than men, to see the possibilities of houses, for a woman has to spend most of her life indoors."
Then she walked slowly toward the kitchen, where she contemplated the stove, two grease-spotted tables, and four fly-specked walls. Philip followed her, saying:—
"What a den! Money must be spent here at once, and—oh, Grace! You're crying? Come here—quick! I never before saw tears in your eyes!"
"And you never shall again," Grace sobbed. "I don't see what can be the matter with me; it must be the cold weather that has—"