and years. I don't know whatever became of it."

The sound of planes and hammers filled the silence that followed.
Lydia was standing by the tall carved chair, her eyes downcast.

"I'm glad you thought of--that notice," she said at last. "If Mr.
Daggett will see to it for me--I'll stop at the office tomorrow. And
now, if you have time, I'd so like you to go over the house with me.
You can tell me about the wall papers and--"

Mrs. Daggett arose with cheerful alacrity.

"I'd like nothing better," she declared. "I ain't been in the house
for so long. Last time was the day of the auction; 'twas after they
took the little girl away, I remember.... Oh, didn't nobody tell you?
There was one child--a real, nice little girl. I forget her name;
Mrs. Bolton used to call her Baby and Darling and like that. She was
an awful pretty little girl, about as old as my Nellie. I've often
wondered what became of her. Some of her relatives took her away,
after her mother was buried. Poor little thing--her ma dead an' her
pa shut up in prison--... Oh! yes; this was the parlor.... My! to
think how the years have gone by, and me as slim as a match then. Now
that's what I call a handsome mantel; and ain't the marble kept real
pretty? There was all-colored rugs and a waxed floor in here, and a
real old-fashioned sofa in that corner and a mahogany table with
carved legs over here, and long lace curtains at the windows. I see
they've fixed the ceilings as good as new and scraped all the old
paper off the walls. There used to be some sort of patterned paper in
here. I can't seem to think what color it was."