"You can't think how much I like that sofa. Wouldn't it be nice if they made such shaped ones nowadays, so long and wide? It suggests rest to me right away. I can't think of anything more comfortable than this corner when the fire is made, with that nice, hospitable sofa wheeled into it."
This sentence brought Dorothy from the kitchen, to gaze, with wide-eyed wonder, first at the lounge and then at the speaker. The object of her intensified hatred, for many a day, had been that old, widespread, claw-footed settle. Not being accustomed to seeing such an article of furniture anywhere else, and being keenly alive to the difference between her home and that of the few other homes into which she had occasionally penetrated, she had, unconsciously to herself, singled out the old lounge and the old table, and concentrated her aversion to the whole upon them.
There was something about Louise that gave to all she said the stamp of sincerity. Dorothy found herself believing implicitly just what had been said; therefore this surprising eulogy of the old settle was the more bewildering. Louise's next sentence completed the mystification.
"But the prettiest thing in this room is that table. I never saw anything like that before; it must be very old, isn't it? And it looks like solid mahogany."
There was no resisting the impulse. Mother Morgan's heart swelled with a sense of gratified pride (if it were not a nobler feeling than pride).
"It is solid," she said quickly, "every inch of it; it belonged to my mother; it was one of her wedding presents from my grandfather. There isn't another table in the country as old as this."
"Isn't that delightful?" said Louise, genuine eagerness in tone and manner. "To think of your having one of your own mother's wedding presents! My sister Estelle would like to see that; she has such a wonderful feeling of reverence for old things, especially when she can hear about the hands that have touched them long ago. Did your mother die a good many years ago?"
"She died when I was a girl like Dorothy there," said Mrs. Morgan, her voice subdued, and she gathered a corner of her large apron and carried it to her eyes.
"I always set great store by that table. I've seen my mother rub it with an old silk handkerchief by the half-hour, to make it shine. She thought a great deal of it on grandfather's account, let alone its value, and it was thought to be a very valuable table in those days. I have always thought I would keep it for Dorothy. But she don't care for it; she thinks it is a horrid, old-fashioned thing. She would have it put into the barn-loft, along with the spinning-wheel, if she could. Your sister must be different from other girls, if she can stand anything old."
Poor Dorothy, her cheeks aflame, stood with downcast eyes; too honest was she to deny that she had hated the claw-footed table as one of the evidences of the life to which she was shut up, different from others. Louise turned toward her with a kindly smile.