'It's nice of father, isn't it?' said Carrie, rather timidly, touching the telegram.
'He'd better have come himself,' said Miss Anna, sharply.
'But he is coming!' cried Carrie. 'He's only sending a letter—or a present—or something—to smooth the way—just as George does with me. Well, now then'—she bent down and brought her resolute little face close to Miss Anna's—'where's he to sleep?'
Miss Anna jumped, pushed back her chair, and said, coldly, 'I'll see to that.'
'Because, if he's going into my room,' said Carrie, thoughtfully, 'something'll have to be done to lengthen that bed. The pillow slips down, and even I hung my feet out last night. But, if you'll let me, I could fix it up—I could make that room real nice.'
Miss Anna told her to do what she liked. 'And where'll you sleep to-night, pray?'
'Oh, I'll go in to mother.'
'There's a second bed in my room,' said Miss Anna, stiffly.
'Ah! but that would crowd you up,' said the girl, softly; and off she went.
Presently there was a commotion upstairs—hammering, pulling, pushing.