sheets and Jerrine's old dresses. In the center of my room is a square
table made of pine and stained brown. Over it is a table-cover that you
gave me. Against the wall near my bed is my "dresser." It is a box with
shelves and is covered with the same material as my screen. Above it I
have a mirror, but it makes ugly faces at me every time I look into it.
Upon the wall near by is a match-holder that you gave me. It is the
heads of two fisher-folk. The man has lost his nose, but the old lady
still thrusts out her tongue. The material on my screen and "dresser" I
bought for curtains, then decided to use some white crossbar I had. But
I wish I had not, for every time I look at them I think of poor little
Mary Ann Parker.

I am going to make you a cup of tea and wonder if you will see anything
familiar about the teapot. You should, I think, for it is another of
your many gifts to me. Now I feel that you have a fairly good idea of
what my house looks like, on the inside anyway. The magazines and
Jerrine's cards and Mother Goose book came long ago, and Jerrine and I
were both made happy. I wish I could do nice things for you, but all I
can do is to love you.

Your sincere friend,
ELINORE RUPERT.




XV

THE "STOCKING-LEG" DINNER