“Here is the room you are to occupy, Mr. Morton,” said Mrs. Frost, opening a door at the head of the front stairs.
It was a large square room, occupying the front eastern corner of the house. The furniture was neat and comfortable, though not pretentious.
“I like this,” said the young man, surveying his new quarters with an air of satisfaction. “The sun will find me out in the morning.”
“Yes, it will remain with you through the forenoon. I think you will find the room warm and comfortable. But whenever you get tired of it you will be welcome downstairs.”
“That is an invitation of which I shall be only too glad to avail myself. Now, Frank, if you will be kind enough to help me upstairs with my trunk.”
The trunk was carried up between them, and placed in a closet.
“I will send for a variety of articles from the city to make my room look social and cheerful,” said Mr. Morton. “I have some books and engravings in Boston, which I think will contribute to make it so.”
A day or two later, two large boxes arrived, one containing pictures, the other books. Of the latter there were perhaps a hundred and fifty, choice and well selected.
Frank looked at them with avidity.
“You shall be welcome to use them as freely as you like,” said the owner—an offer which Frank gratefully accepted.