He lifted the flap in the counter to let her through. The doorway beyond
gave entrance to a wide hall, or "entry," between the store and the
living-room. The kitchen was in a lean-to at the back. The table in the
big room was already spread with a clean red-and-white checked tablecloth
and set with heavy chinaware for a meal. A huge caster graced the center
of the table, containing glass receptacles for salt, red and black
pepper, catsup, vinegar, and oil. Knives, forks, and spoons for two--all
of utilitarian style--were arranged with mathematical precision beside
each plate.

In one window hung a pot with "creeping Jew" and inchplant, the tendrils
at least a yard long. In the other window was a blowzy-looking canary in
a cage. A corpulent tortoise-shell cat occupied the turkey-red cushion
in one generous rocking chair, There was a couch with a faded patchwork
coverlet, several other chairs, and in a glass-fronted case standing on
the mantlepiece a model of a brigantine in full sail, at least two feet
tall.

"Sit down," said Cap'n Abe heartily. "Drop your dunnage right down
there," as Louise slipped the strap of her bag from her shoulder. "Take
that big rocker. Scat, you, Diddimus! and let the young lady have your
place."

"Oh, don't bother him, Uncle Abram. What a beauty he is," Louise said,
as the tortoise-shell--without otherwise moving--opened one great, yellow
eye.

"He's a lazy good-for-nothing," Cap'n Abe said mildly. "Friends with all
the mice on the place, I swan! But sometimes he's the only human critter
I have to talk to. 'Cept Jerry."