Natalie picked up the discarded clothing, which crackled stiffly under her touch and parted from the bare boards with a tearing sound.
"Frozen! The idea!" said she.
Eliza poked among the other garments which hung against the wall and found them also rigid. The nail-heads behind them were coated with ice. Turning to the table, with its litter of papers and the various unclassified accumulation of a bachelor's house, she said:
"I suppose we'll have to leave this as it is."
"Just leave everything. I'll get a man to clean up while you take pictures of the bridge." As Natalie began preparing for action he queried, in surprise, "Don't you like my little home?"
"It's awful," the bride answered, feelingly.
"A perfect bear's den," Eliza agreed. "It will take us all day."
"It's just the way I like it," he told them; but they resolutely banished him and locked the door in his face.
"Hey! I don't want my things all mussed up," he called, pounding for re-admittance; "I know right where everything is, and—" The door opened, out came an armful of papers, a shower of burnt matches, and a litter of trash from his work-table. He groaned. Eliza showed her countenance for a moment to say:
"Now, run away, little boy. You're going to have your face washed, no matter how you cry. When we've finished in here we'll attend to you." The door slammed once more, and he went away shaking his head.