rew full, with delightful disorder of riches; but none too much, for
they began to feel their minds so empty that no amount of provision
could be too generous.

"The room is getting to be running-over full. What will you do, Mrs.
Barclay?"

"It is terrible when you have to sweep the carpet, isn't it? I must
send for some book cases."

"You might let Mr. Midgin put up some--shelves I could stain them, and
make them look very nice."

"Who is Mr. Midgin?"

"The carpenter."

"Oh! Well.--I think we had better send for him, Lois."

The door stood open into the kitchen, or dining-room rather, on account
of the packing-cases which the girls were just moving out; then
appeared the figure of Mrs. Marx in the opening.

"Lois, Charity ain't at home--How much beef are you goin' to want?"

"Beef?" said Lois, smiling at the transition in her thoughts.--"For
salting, you mean?"

"For salting, and for smoking, and for mince-meat, and for pickling.
What is the girl thinking of?"

"She is thinking of books just now, Mrs. Marx," suggested Mrs. Barclay.

"Books!" The lady stepped nearer and looked in. "Well, I declare! I
should think you had _some_. What in all the world can you do with so
many?"

"Just what we were considering. I think we must have the carpenter
here, to put up some shelves."

"Well I should say that was plain. But when you have got 'em on the
shelves, what next? What will you do with 'em then?"

"Take 'em down and read them, aunt Anne."

"Your life ain't as busy as mine, then, if you have time for all that.
What's the good o' readin' so much?"

"There's so much to know, that we don't know!"

"I should like to know what,"--said Mrs. Marx, going round and picking
up one book after another. "You've been to school, haven't you?"

Lois changed her tone.

"I'll talk to Charity about the beef, and let you know, aunt Anne."

"Well, come out to the other room and let me talk to you! Good
afternoon, ma'am--I hope you don't let these girls make you too much
worry.--Now, Lois" (after the door was shut between them and Mrs.
Barclay), "I just want you to tell me what you and Madge are about?"

Lois told her, and Mrs. Marx listened with a judicial air; then
observed gravely,

"'Seems to me, there ain't much sense in all that, Lois."

"O, yes, aunt Anne! there is."

"What's the use? What do you want to know more tongues than your own
for, to begin with? you can't talk but in one at once. And spending
you