l?" ejaculated William.
"Caleb Kimball ain't done a good day's work for years, an' I'm to set
up nights paintin' his kitchen!" Nevertheless the magnificent
impertinence of the idea so paralyzed his will that he ended by
putting on twelve single rolls of fawn-colored paper and painting the
woodwork yellow to harmonize, working from eight to twelve several
nights and swearing freely at his own foolishness.

By this time Amanda had made the downstairs chamber all tidy and
comfortable for the patient. She had contributed a window shade and
dimity curtains; Susan a braided rug and a chair cushion. The chamber
(the one in which Caleb's mother had died) opened from the kitchen and
commanded an enticing view of the fresh yellow walls and shining
cook-stove. On the day before Caleb's removal Amanda sat on the foot
of the bed and looked through the doorway with silent joy, going to
and fro to move a bright tin dipper into plainer view or retire a
drying dish-cloth to greater privacy.

Even Abby Thatcher was by this time a trifle exhilarated. She did not
understand the situation very well, being of a sternly practical
nature herself, but she caught the enthusiasm of the two women and
scrubbed the kitchen floor faithfully every morning in order to remove
the stains of years of neglect.

"You wouldn't think your old hen 'd be such a fool, Miss Dalton," she
said; "but I kind o' surmised the reason she's been missin', an' I
found her to-day in a corner o' the haymow sittin' on five eggs. Now,
wouldn't you s'pose at her age she'd know better than to try an' raise
chickens in October?"

"I'm afraid they'll die if it should be a cold fall, with nobody to
look after 'em; but maybe I can take 'em home to my shed an' lend Mr.
Kimball another hen." (Amanda's tone was motherly.) "I never like to
break up a hen's nest, somehow; it seems as if they must have feelin's
like other folks."

"I'd take her off quicker'n scat, an' keep takin' her off, till she
got some sense," said Abby, with the Chinese cruelty of sixteen.

"Well, you let her be till Mr. Kimball gets well enough to ask; an' I
think, Abby, you might clean up the dooryard just a little mite this
mornin'," suggested Amanda. "If you could straighten up the fence an'
find a couple of old hinges to hang the gate with, it would kind o'
put new heart into Mr. Kimball when he's sittin' up an' lookin' out
the window."

"Why didn't he put heart into hisself by hangin' his _own_ gate,