"Two! We couldn't, unless we gave her our best parlour, and had none for ourselves. That wouldn't do."
"Unless she would pay for it," Lois suggested.
"How much would she pay? Does Mrs. Wishart say?"
"Guess, girls! She would pay—twelve dollars a week."
Charity almost jumped from her chair. Madge stood leaning with her hands upon the table and stared at her sister. Only the old grandmother went on now quietly with her knitting. The words were re-echoed by both sisters.
"Twelve dollars a week! Fifty dollars a month!" cried Madge, and clapped her hands. "We can have bonnets all round; and the hay and the apples won't matter. Fifty dollars a month! Why, Lois!—"
"It would be an awful bother," said Charity.
"Mrs. Wishart says not. At least she says this lady—this Mrs. Barclay—is a delightful person, and we shall like her so much we shall not mind the trouble. Besides, I do not think it will be so much trouble. And we do not use our parlour much. I'll read you the letter now."
So she did; and then followed an eager talk.
"She is a city body, of course. Do you suppose she will be contented with our ways of going on?" Charity queried.