Mrs. Tomlinson signified her consent to Sarah’s going, and then gave her full attention to showing her company the house. “You musn’t look at the dirt everywhere, ladies,” began she, waving a hand at the immaculate corners and primly-ordered furniture.
“Now come and see my parlor, girls. I’m proud of that room, but we onny use it Sundays, when Sarah plays the melodian and we sings hymns. Now an’ then some neighbors come in evenin’s, fer a quiltin’-bee in winter; and I uses it fer a minister’s call, but there ain’t no way to het the room an’ it’s all-fired cold fer visitin’.”
Polly thought of the ranch-house at Pebbly Pit as Mrs. Tomlinson described the cold winter evenings, and she smiled at the remembrance of how she used to undress in the kitchen beside the roaring range-fire, and then rush breathlessly into her cold little room to jump between the blankets and roll up in them to sleep.
Eleanor laughed outright at the picture of a visiting dominie sitting on the edge of a chair with his toes slowly freezing, while his parishioners tried in quaking tones and with teeth chattering to entertain him.
But Mrs. Tomlinson paid no heed to their laughter, for she was in her glory. “Ain’t this some room?” demanded she, pulling the shades up to give enough light to admire the place.
A stained cherry parlor suite of five pieces upholstered in cheap satin damask, with a what-not in one corner, and an easel holding a crayon portrait of Abe and his bride at the time of their wedding, in the other corner, graced this best room. A few cheap chromos flared against the gorgeous-patterned wall-paper, and a mantel-shelf was crowded with all sorts of nick-nacks and ornaments. Polly seemed drawn to this shelf, the first thing, while the other girls glanced around the parlor and felt like laughing.
“Won’t you sit down, a minute?” invited the hostess, but her tone suggested fear lest they soil the damask with their dust-coats.
Polly had made a discovery in that moment she had to look over the motley collection on the shelf.
“This is a nice tray you have standing against the wall,” said she, using Mrs. Fabian’s tactics to interest the hostess.
“Yes, that’s another auction bargain. When Abe fust got it, the day I went fer that oak side-board, I got mad. But I’ve used it a lot sence then, fer lemonade and cookies, when comp’ny comes to visit all afternoon. And I feels made up, I kin tell you, when I brings that tray in like all society does.” Mrs. Tomlinson chuckled to herself.