and knitting. These pictures were hung on either side of
the mantelpiece. The other picture was quite an affair, very large and
striking. It was a colored lithograph of two little golden-haired girls
in their nightgowns. They were kneeling down and saying their prayers;
their eyes--very large and very blue--rolled upward. This picture had
for name, "Faith," and was bordered with a red plush mat and a frame of
imitation beaten brass.

A door hung with chenille portieres--a bargain at two dollars and a
half--admitted one to the bedroom. The bedroom could boast a carpet,
three-ply ingrain, the design being bunches of red and green flowers in
yellow baskets on a white ground. The wall-paper was admirable--hundreds
and hundreds of tiny Japanese mandarins, all identically alike, helping
hundreds of almond-eyed ladies into hundreds of impossible junks,
while hundreds of bamboo palms overshadowed the pair, and hundreds of
long-legged storks trailed contemptuously away from the scene. This room
was prolific in pictures. Most of them were framed colored prints from
Christmas editions of the London "Graphic" and "Illustrated News," the
subject of each picture inevitably involving very alert fox terriers and
very pretty moon-faced little girls.

Back of the bedroom was the kitchen, a creation of Trina's, a dream of
a kitchen, with its range, its porcelain-lined sink, its copper boiler,
and its overpowering array of flashing tinware. Everything was new;
everything was complete.

Maria Macapa and a waiter from one of the restaurants in the street
were to prepare the wedding supper here. Maria had already put in an
appearance. The fire was crackling in the new stove, that smoked badly;
a smell of cooking was in the air. She drove McTeague and Old Grannis
from the room with great gestures of her bare arms.

This kitchen was the only one of the three rooms they had been obliged
to furnish throughout. Most of the sitting-room and bedroom furniture
went with the suite; a few pieces they had bought; the remainder Trina
had brought over from the B Street house.

The presents had been set out on the extension table in the
sitting-room. Besides the parlor melodeon, Trina's parents had given her
an ice-water set, and a carving knife and fork with elk-horn handles.
Selina had painted a view of the Golden Gate upon a polished slice
of redwood that answered the purposes of a paper weight. Marcus
Schouler--after impressing upon Trina that hi