cedar chest and the old trunks did not concern her in the least,
and tried to develop a feminine fear of mice, which was not
natural to her. She had just placed herself loftily above all
mundane things, when Hepsey marched into the room, and placed the
attic lamp, newly filled, upon the marble table.

Here was a manifest duty confronting a very superior person and,
as she went upstairs, she determined to come back immediately,
but when she had put the light in the seaward window, she
lingered, under the spell of the room.

The rain beat steadily upon the roof and dripped from the eaves.
The light made distorted shadows upon the wall and floor, while
the bunches of herbs, hanging from the rafters, swung lightly
back and forth when the wind rattled the windows and shook the
old house.

The room seemed peopled by the previous generation, that had
slept in the massive mahogany bed, rocked in the chairs, with
sewing or gossip, and stood before the old dresser on tiptoe,
peering eagerly into the mirror which probably had hung above it.
It was as if Memory sat at the spinning-wheel, idly twisting the
thread, and bringing visions of the years gone by.

A cracked mirror hung against the wall and Ruth saw her
reflection dimly, as if she, too, belonged to the ghosts of the
attic. She was not vain, but she was satisfied with her eyes and
hair, her white skin, impervious to tan or burn, and the shape of
her mouth. The saucy little upward tilt at the end of her nose
was a great cross to her, however, because it was at variance