“I don’t wonder now at Miss Mingle looking haggard,” said Tavia, “if she must face this climb every time she comes back. Imagine doing this several times a day!”
“At least, one would get all the necessary exercising, and in wet, cold weather, could have both amusement and exercise, sliding down the banisters and climbing back,” Dorothy said, determined to see the bright side of it.
Tavia slipped in a heap on a step and gasped: “Yes, indeed, I’ll admit there may be advantages in the way of exercise.”
“Courage,” said Dorothy laughing, “we have only ten steps more!”
While Dorothy resolutely dragged Tavia up the last ten steps, Miss Mingle appeared in the hall.
“I heard your cheerful laughter,” she said with a smile, “and I said to sister, prepare the pillows for the girls to fall on, after their awful climb. But I didn’t say,” she added, playfully, “feather pillows to fall on the girls!”
“We really enjoyed the climb,” said Dorothy.
“It was lots of fun,” agreed Tavia.
They entered a room which at first glance seemed a confused jumble of beautiful furniture, magazines, newspapers and books, grocer and butcher and gas bills, and a gentle-faced woman reclining languidly in an easy chair. Her smooth black hair fell gracefully over her ears; she had large gray eyes, whose sweet patience was the most marked characteristic of her face.
“My sister, Mrs. Bergham, has been quite ill,” explained Miss Mingle, as she rushed about trying to clear off two chairs for the girls to sit on. Every chair in the room seemed to be littered with what Dorothy thought was a unique collection of various sorts of jars, tea pots, and cups; and last week’s laundry seemed to cover the radiators and tables. The room, however, for all the confusion, was quaint and artistic, and had odd little corners fixed up here and there.