"I'm so dead tired—I've worked every minute, haven't I, Sam?"
"She sure has," the boy chuckled admiringly, "kep us all agoin' too!"
"How do you like it, papa?"
Milly led the little man into the front room and waited breathlessly for his approbation. It was her first attempt in the delicate art of household arrangement.
"It's fine—it's all right!" Horatio commented amiably, twisting an unlighted cigar between his teeth and surveying the room dubiously. His tone implied bewilderment. He was a creature of habits, even if they were peripatetic habits: he missed the parlor furniture and the green rug. They meant home to him. Looking into the rear cavern where Milly had thrust all the furniture she had not the courage to scrap, he observed slyly,—"What'll your grandmother say?"
"She's said it," Milly laughed.
Horatio chuckled. This was woman's business, and wise male that he was he maintained an amused neutrality.
"Ain't you most unpacked, Milly? I'm getting dead tired of boarding."
"Oh, I've just begun, really! You don't know what time it takes to settle a house properly."
"Didn't think we had so much stuff."