“Well, mamma, I’ll try not to; but say, mamma, I may come out and play here sometimes; it’s so nice.”
“I will see about it some other time; but come in with me and get ready for supper.”
——
CHAPTER IV.
The next few days were those of considerable physical toil to our friends. The care of the younger children had to be resigned to a young girl who had been taken to assist her maid of all work; and Harry found himself straying occasionally to his favorite puddle, which, much to his regret, became gradually smaller, until at last it entirely disappeared.
Those few days had, however, wrought a wonderful change in the appearance of things within the house; and it is astonishing what marvels a few dollars will effect in producing these results when directed by taste. A little paint, some neat but low priced wall-paper, a little white dimity, chintz, and a few yards of white muslin, with some matting on the floor, had effected true wonders. The family portraits and engravings relieved the nakedness of the walls; curtains of thin white muslin, tied up with some tasteful ribbon, gave an air of refinement to the otherwise decidedly vulgar windows, whilst the chintz and dimity covered with graceful folds many an otherwise plain and homely deal plank.
“I declare,” mused Maria to herself, “we are becoming quite presentable, almost ready to receive company. Yet something seems wanting—I have it; there’s enough of that blue and fawn-colored chintz still left; I will get Henry to saw me off a couple of boxes of the right size—Sam shall bring me some wool to stuff them with, and I will have a pair of ottomans.”
No sooner thought than done. The boxes were hunted up, and found to suit exactly, except that they were a few inches too high.
“Henry, dear,” she said to her husband, when they had finished dinner, “wont you just take a saw and come and saw me off a piece from each of these boxes that are lying out there?”
“Yes—but what on earth do you want to do with them, Maria?”