strips narrow enough to go out. One of the men loading the remaining
cart disposed of the question by coming in and rolling up the oil-cloth
and carrying it off on top of his wagon.

Elizabeth Eliza felt she must hurry back to the new house. But what
should they do?--no beds here, no carpets there! The dining-room table
and sideboard were at the other house, the plates and forks and spoons
here. In vain she looked at her programme. It was all reversed,
everything was misplaced. Mr. Peterkin would suppose they were to eat
there and sleep here, and what had become of the little boys?

Meanwhile, the man with the first cart had returned. They fell to
packing the dining-room china. They were up in the attic, they were
down in the cellar. Even one of them suggested to take the tacks out of
the parlor carpets, as they should want to take them next. Mrs.
Peterkin sunk upon a kitchen chair.

"Oh, I wish we had decided to stay and be moved in the house!" she
exclaimed.

Solomon John urged his mother to go to the new house, for Mr. Peterkin
would be there for his "quiet hour." And when the carters at last
appeared carrying the parlor carpets on their shoulders she sighed and
said, "There is nothing left," and meekly consented to be led away.

They reached the new house to find Mr. Peterkin sitting calmly in a
rocking-chair on the piazza, watching the oxen coming into the opposite
barn. He was waiting for the keys, which Solomon John had taken back
with him. The little boys were in a horse-chestnut tree, at the side of
the house.