“Yes,” said Susan, “and all my beautiful plants I am obliged to keep out of doors, exposed to the night frosts, to make room for that old desk of father’s, which is filled with empty ink-bottles and pamphlets and sermons half a century old, that nobody, not even he, ever thinks of reading. It would be such a nice little corner for my flowers.”
“In my opinion,” said Frank, “I really think a fire would do the house good.”
“What!” said my aunt, in a tone of horror.
“I mean,” said Frank, “if the old house caught fire, and burned—a little—I don’t mean much—but just a little, it would greatly purify us. We should have room to breathe—and I should have room for my gun and dogs and fishing-tackle. I really should laugh to see the old garret go.”
“My child,” said my aunt, solemnly, “you speak like a fool. When you get to be as old as your father and mother, you will alter your tone. Will my children ever learn economy?”
My uncle here looked up over his spectacles, solemnly at Frank, and approvingly at his wife, but said nothing, and went on reading the paper.
The rest of my cousins said little, and rather took sides with their parents. The fact was, they were growing old and conservative.
Ebenezer thought the house was very well as it was; and he for one did not wish to see any thing cleared out—unless, indeed, it were in some places, where he needed a closet or two for his bugs and butterflies and geological specimens.
But my good aunt still persisted in maintaining that there was nothing in the whole house that could be spared, and that sooner or later every thing would come into use.
Such little altercations as this not unfrequently arose in the Fabbins family circle; but I have not yet heard that they have resulted in any change or reform in the administration of the internal affairs.