“Golly, I’d ’a’ had a hard time not to,” said that young person, immediately making for the barn, with Buster at his heels.
Mrs. Pillig and I went inside. While she was inspecting the kitchen, Mike and I carried her trunk up the back stairs.
“I hope your bed comes to-day,” said I, returning. “You see, the house is largely furnished from my two rooms at college, and there was hardly enough to go around.”
Mrs. Pillig looked into the south room. “Did you have all them books in your two rooms at college?” she asked.
I nodded.
“They must ’a’ been pretty big rooms,” she said. “Books is awful things to keep dusted.”
“Which reminds me,” I smiled, leading her over to my desk, at which I pointed impressively. “Woman!” said I, in sepulchral tones, “that desk is never to be dusted, never to be touched. Not a paper is to be removed from it. No matter how dirty, how littered it gets, never touch it under pain of death!”
She looked at me a second with her worried eyes wide open, and then a smile came over her wan, thin face.
“I guess you be n’t so terrible as you sound,” she said. “But I won’t touch it. Anything else I’m not to touch?”
“Yes,” I answered. “The ashes in those two fireplaces. The ashes there are never to be taken out, no matter if they are piled a foot thick, and spill all over the floor. A noble pile of ashes is a room’s best recommendation. Those are the only two orders I have. In all else, I’m at your mercy. But on those two points you are at mine–and I have none!”