nice boy?" demanded Lyddy of her sister. "And you called
him a freak."

"Don't rub it in, Lyd," snapped 'Phemie. "But it is hard to have to accept
a veritable gawk of a fellow like Lucas--for that's what he _is_!--as a
sure-enough hero."

This was said aside, of course, and while Lucas was doing yeoman's work at
the woodpile. He had brought in a huge backlog, placed it carefully,
laid a forestick and the kindling, and soon blue and yellow flames
were weaving through the well-built structure of the fire. There was a
swinging crane for the kettle and a long bar with hooks upon it, from
which various cooking pots could dangle. Built into the chimney, too,
was a brick oven with a sheet-iron door. The girls thought all these
old-fashioned arrangements delightful, whether they proved convenient, or
not.

They swept and dusted the old kitchen thoroughly, and cleaned the
cupboards and pantry-closet. Then they turned their attention to the
half bedchamber, half sitting-room that opened directly out of the
kitchen. In these two rooms they proposed to live at first--until
their father could join them, at least.

There was an old-time high, four-post bed in this second room. It had been
built long before some smart man had invented springs, and its frame was
laced from side to side, and up and down, like the warp and woof of a
rug, with a "bedrope" long since rotted and moth-eaten.

"My goodness me!" exclaimed 'Phemie, laughing. "That will never hold you
and me, Lyd. We'll just have to stuff that old tick with hay and sleep on
the floor."

But Lucas heard their discussion and again came to their help. Lyddy had
bought a new clothesline when she purchased her food supplies at the city
department store, and the clever Lucas quickly roped the old bedstead.

"That boy certainly is rising by leaps and bounds in my estimation,"
admitted 'Phemie, in a whisper, to her sister.

Then came the problem of the bed. Lyddy had saved their pillows from
the wreck of the flat; but the mattresses had gone with the furniture to
the second-hand man. There might be good feather beds in the farmhouse
attic; Aunt Jane had said something about them, Lyddy believed. But there
was no time to hunt for these now.

"Here is a tick," 'Phemie said again. "What'll we fill it with?"

"Give it to me," volunteered Lucas. "One of the stable lofts is half full
of rye straw. We thrashed some rye on this place last year. It's jest as
good beddin' for humans