Sophia chid them for it sharply. Captain Rexford carried a solemn face.
The little boys were in worse pickles of mischief than was ordinary.
Even Mrs. Rexford was caught once or twice, in odd corners, hastily
wiping away furtive tears.

This general despondency seemed to reach a climax one afternoon some
days before the end of the year. Without, the wind was blowing and snow
was descending; inside, the housework dragged monotonously. The only
lively people in the house were the little children. They were playing
quite riotously in an upper room, under the care of the Canadian girl,
Eliza; but their shouts only elicited sighs from Mrs. Rexford's elder
daughters, who were helping her to wash the dinner dishes in the
kitchen.

These two elder daughters had, since childhood, always been dressed, so
far as convenient, the one in blue, the other in red, and were nicknamed
accordingly. Their mother thought it gave them individuality which they
otherwise lacked. The red frock and the blue were anything but gay just
now, for they were splashed and dusty, and the pretty faces above them
showed a decided disposition to pout and frown, even to shed tears.

The kitchen was a long, low room. The unpainted wood of floor, walls,
and ceiling was darkened somewhat by time. Two square, four-paned
windows were as yet uncurtained, except that Nature, with the kindness
of a fairy helper, had supplied the lack of deft fingers and veiled the
glass with such devices of the frost as resembled miniature landscapes
of distant alp and nearer minaret. The large, square cooking-stove
smoked a little. Between the stove and the other door stood the table,
which held the dishes at which worked the neat, quick mother and her
rather untidy and idle daughters.