sewed with her, abroad and at home,--abroad without her, also, as she
was doing now for us. A pattern for a sleeve, or a cape, or a
panier,--or a receipt for a tea-biscuit or a johnny-cake, was
something to go home with rejoicing.

Arabel Waite and Delia could only use three rooms of the old house;
the rest was blinded and shut up; the garret was given over to the
squirrels, who came in from the great butternut-trees in the yard, and
stowed away their rich provision under the eaves and away down between
the walls, and grew fat there all winter, and frolicked like a troop
of horse. We liked to hear Delia tell of their pranks, and of all the
other queer, quaint things in their way of living. Everybody has a way
of living; and if you can get into it, every one is as good as a
story. It always seemed to us as if Delia brought with her the
atmosphere of mysterious old houses, and old, old books stowed away in
their by-places, and stories of the far past that had been lived
there, and curious ancient garments done with long ago, and packed
into trunks and bureaus in the dark, unused rooms, where there had
been parties once, and weddings and funerals and children's games in
nurseries; and strange fellowship of little wild things that strayed
in now,--bees in summer, and squirrels in winter,--and brought the
woods and fields with them under the old roof. Why, I think we should
have missed it more than she would, if we had put her into some back
room, and poked her sewing in at her, and left her to herself!

The only thing that wasn't nice that week was Aunt Roderick coming
over one morning in the very thick of our work, and Lucilla's too,
walking straight up stairs, as aunts can, whether you want them or
not, and standing astonished at the great goings-on.