“Come to think of it, I haven’t. Perhaps something is wrong with his purrer. We’ll fix him to-morrow.”
From a remote part of the house came twelve faint, silvery tones. The kitchen clock struck next, with short, quick strokes, followed immediately by a casual record of the hour from the clock on the mantel beneath Uncle Ebeneezer’s portrait. Then the grandfather’s clock in the hall boomed out twelve, solemn funereal chimes. Afterward, the silence seemed acute.
“The end of the honeymoon,” said Dorothy, a little sadly, with a quick, inquiring look at her husband.
“The end of the honeymoon!” repeated Harlan, gathering her into his arms. “To-morrow, life begins!”
Several hours later, Dorothy awoke from a dreamless sleep to wonder whether life was any different from a honeymoon, and if so, how and why.
II
The Day Afterward
By the pitiless light of early morning, the house was even uglier than at night. With an irreverence essentially modern, Dorothy decided, while she was dressing, to have all the furniture taken out into the back yard, where she could look it over at her leisure. She would make a bonfire of most of it, or, better yet, have it cut into wood for the fireplace. Thus Uncle Ebeneezer’s cumbrous bequest might be quickly transformed into comfort.