Bob and Happie assented, and the trunks were deposited at the foot of the steps, all three of which needed mending. But after Jake had driven away, they found that the assumption that keys were needed to enter this house was a mistake—the door was not fastened; it opened on slight pressure, and Bob and Happie entered.
The unattractive odors of an old house long closed saluted them as they came in, and they caught a glimpse of a scantily furnished sitting-room and dining-room. The stairs ran up straight before them, beginning just beyond the casements of the two doors; they were not carpeted, but had once been painted a depressing drab, of which proof remained on the sides around the bannisters, though the middle of each step was worn quite bare.
Happie shrank with an irrepressible shudder; the whole aspect was so barren, so repulsive to her homesick soul.
"Let's wait for the others to see it for the first time with us," she said. "Let's sit outside on the steps till they come."
Bob smiled and drew her hand protectingly through his arm.
"You can wait to see more, you are not impatient for your new home, are you, Happie? And you like the view outside better than inside? Well, the house doesn't 'pretty much,' as old Mr. Frost used to say, but it certainly has the greatest view in Pennsylvania."
They sat down disconsolately on the steps, in the dampness of the declining day, and waited. The stillness was dreadful. Happie began to laugh, tearfully, and Bob turned to her with an anxiously inquiring look.
"No, I'm not getting crazy or hysterical," she replied to it. "I was thinking of that funny story of Ardelia in Arcady, and that the poor little street child was right when she said: 'Gee! N'Yawk's de place!'"
"Now, Happie!" exclaimed Bob reproachfully.
"I'm sorry, Bob," said Happie contritely. "I'll never so much as hint it again."