Carroll Bishop, however, seemed possessed of a spirit of restlessness. The place seemed to interest her. She wandered here and there in the room, looking now at the walnut-framed photograph of Uncle Jim Orde, now at the great pink conch shells either side the door, now at the marble-topped table with its square paper-weight of polished agate and its glass “bell,” beneath which stood a very life-like robin. This “back sitting-room” contained little in the way of ornament. It was filled, on the contrary, with old comfortable chairs, and worn calf-backed books. The girl peered at the titles of these; but the gas-jets had been turned low in favour of the firelight, and she had to give over the effort to identify the volumes. Once she wandered close to Grandma Orde's cushioned wooden rocker, and passed her hand lightly over the old lady's shoulder.
“Do you mind if I look at things?” she asked. “It's so dear and sweet and old and different from our New York homes.”
“Look all you want to, dearie,” said Grandma Orde.
After a moment she passed into the dining-room. Here Orde found her, her hands linked in front of her.
“Oh, it is so quaint and delightful,” she exhaled slowly. “This dear, dear old house with its low ceilings and its queer haphazard lines, and its deep windows, and its old pictures, and queer unexpected things that take your breath away.”
“It is one of the oldest houses in town,” said Orde, “and I suppose it is picturesque. But, you see, I was brought up here, so I'm used to it.”
“Wait until you leave it,” said she prophetically, “and live away from it. Then all these things will come back to you to make your heart ache for them.”
They rambled about together, Orde's enthusiasm gradually kindling at the flame of her own. He showed her the marvellous and painstaking pencil sketch of Napoleon looking out over a maltese-cross sunset done by Aunt Martha at the age of ten. It hung framed in the upper hall.
“It has always been there, ever since I can remember,” said Orde, “and it has seemed to belong there. I've never thought of it as good or bad, just as belonging.”
“I know,” she nodded.