Not that the maid was always disagreeable; indeed she was not. She was as “good as gold,” almost always. Even Barbara would be glad to testify to that. But what “riled her” was Barbara stooping to bother with those foreigners.
But finally Babs arose from the table, and the doctor followed.
“What did you find in the attic, Dads?” she begged to know, as arm in arm they went, as they did after every meal however humble, into the sitting-room.
“Guess?” he teased.
“Oh, how could I?” murmured the girl. She gave his arm an extra tug and fell upon the arm of his big chair as he dropped into it.
“Well,” he drawled, just to tantalize her, “it’s small and it’s square——”
“A little footstool, the worsted embroidered one?” she guessed.
“Nopey. It’s something to hang up.”
“An old picture, of course. I knew we had some Currier and Ives prints,” she continued, “and I should have looked them up. Where did you hide it, Dad?”
“Not a picture, dear, but what they called a sampler. I suppose it means a sample-er because it’s made up of sample letters.”