“So this is going to be your new home now, Aunt Keziah,” she observed. “How queer that seems.”
“Um—h'm. Does seem queer, don't it? Must seem queer to you to be so near the headquarters of everything your uncle thinks is wicked. Smell of brimstone any, does it?” she asked with a smile.
“No, I haven't noticed it. You've got a lot of cleaning to do. I wish I could help. Look at the mud on the floor.”
Keziah looked.
“Mud?” she exclaimed. “Why, so 'tis! How in the world did that come here? Wet feet, sure's you're born. Man's foot, too. Cap'n Elkanah's, I guess likely; though the prints don't look hardly big enough for his. Elkanah's convinced that he's a great man and his boots bear him out in it, don't they? Those marks don't look broad enough for his understandin', but I guess he made 'em; nobody else could. Here's the settin' room.”
She threw open another door. A room gloomy with black walnut and fragrant with camphor was dimly visible.
“Cheerful's a tomb, ain't it?” was Mrs. Coffin's comment. “Well, we'll get some light and air in here pretty soon. Here's the front hall and there's the front stairs. The parlor's off to the left. We won't bother with that yet a while. This little place in here is what Mr. Langley used to call his 'study.' Halloa! how this door sticks!”
The door did stick, and no amount of tugging could get it open, though Grace added her efforts to those of Keziah.
“'Tain't locked,” commented Mrs. Coffin, “cause there ain't any lock on it. I guess it's just swelled and stuck from the damp. Though it's odd, I don't remember—Oh, well! never mind. Let's sweeten up this settin' room a little. Open a window or two in here. We'll have to hurry if we want to do anything before it gets dark. I'm goin' into the kitchen to get a broom.”
She hurried out, returning in a moment or two with a broom and a most disgusted expression.