ashioned; some of the
old ways are lovely. It is only when you tack hardness and commonness on
them and think ugliness has a real virtue in it. We will have both sides
to talk about. But if you were going back to England, it would break my
heart, Doris."

Doris winked some tears out of her eyes.

She thought her room at Uncle Win's was like a picture. The wall was
whitewashed: people thought then it was much healthier for sleeping
chambers. The floor was painted a rather palish yellow. There was only
one window, but the door was opposite, and a door that opened into the
room of Miss Recompense. The window had white curtains with ruffled
edges, made of rather coarse muslin, but it was clear, and looked very
tidy. Miss Recompense had found a small bedstead among the stored-away
articles. It had high posts and curtains and valance of pale-blue
flowered chintz. There was a big bureau, a dressing table covered with
white, and a looking glass prettily draped. At the top of this,
surmounted by a gilt eagle, was a marvelous picture of a man with a blue
coat and yellow smallclothes handing into a boat a lady who wore a skirt
of purple and an overdress of scarlet, very much betrimmed, holding a
green parasol over her head with one hand and placing a slippered foot
on the edge of the boat. After a long while Doris thought she should be
much relieved to have them sail off somewhere.

There were two quaint rush-bottomed chairs and a yellow stool, such as
we tie with ribbons and call a milking stool. A nice warm rug lay at the
side of the bed, and a smaller one at the washing stand. These were
woven like rag carpet, but made of woolen rags with plenty of ends
standing up all over, like the surface of a Moquette carpet. They were
considered quite handsome then, as they were more trouble than braided
rugs, and so soft to the foot. Some strenuous housekeepers declared them
terrible dust catchers.

Doris' delight in the room amply repaid Miss Recompense. She had learned
her way about, and could come down alone, now that the weather had grown
pleasanter, and she was full of joy over everything. Occasionally Uncle
Winthrop would be out, then she and Miss Recompense would have what they
called a "nice talk."

Miss Recompense Gardiner was quite sure she had never seen just such a
child. Indeed at five-and-forty she was rather set in her ways, disliked
noise and bustle, and could not bear to have a house "torn up," as she
phrased it. Tw