fixtures, her collar and tie and the various articles
constituting the sub-structure necessary for their support. We cannot go
into the details, because the plans and specifications are missing.
Bridget held that quilt with her hands and mouth to keep behind the
scenes as much as possible.

"Bridget, we are called away this morning," said Mrs. Tescheron. "Where
to in Hoboken, my dear Gabrielle? We must leave the address."

Gabrielle called down the hall to her father, who shouted back so that
Bridget might have heard if buried under the product of a quilt mill:

"Stuffer House! Stuffer House!"

"It's a pretty name, ma'am," said Bridget. "I'll bet their pancakes
taste like this quilt. You'll not be gone long, ma'am? Is it near
Stukeville, ma'am?"

"No, no, Bridget, it's nowhere near Stukeville. I wish it were. It's in
Hoboken, New Jersey, Bridget. Gabrielle, please write it down for her.
Tidy up this room, Bridget, and if anybody calls, say we are away
visiting for a few days--"

"In Hoebroken, ma'am?"

"Out of town will answer, and write me how things are going. Do not use
soap again when you wash the shell in the aquarium. If the parrot
becomes lonesome--you can always tell because he goes back to
swearing--let him hear the phonograph for half an hour night and
morning, if you are too busy to ring the dinner bell to amuse him. Be
careful about the gas--so many girls are dying that way now--but
whatever you do, do not neglect the parrot; he is such a comfort to me
and is such a good parrot. He has reformed so much since--"

"Aren't you ready yet, my dear? The coach is here!" shouted Mr.
Tescheron, who was anxiously pacing the hall, watch in hand. It was
4:30; a whole half hour had passed and Hoboken had not yet been sighted,
whereas visions of the coroner's agents and scarehead publicity were
everywhere.

"Yes! Yes! Be patient, Albert; we are nearly ready. And, Bridget, I wish
you would make up a pound cake and a fruit cake, and send them to me by
express, for we shall miss your cooking so much." Mrs. Tescheron was a
good manager of Bridget, who had served her over ten years, and she knew
the value of a little appreciation. The last time they moved, Bridget
had been hurried into the yard to bring the clothes-poles, but she was
so long about it that Mrs. Tescheron went to look for her. Bridget in
those emerald days knew little of clothes-poles, the sticks they used to
keep the sagging line up, but was bent on