"Well, that's the way it ought to be, ain't it?" said Eri. "Then all
you've got to do is look in the place."

"Yes, and that's jest it, I'm always forgittin' the place. My shoes is
sech a place; my hankerchers is sech a place; my pipe is sech a place;
my terbacker is another place. When I want my pipe I look where my shoes
is, and when I want my shoes I go and look where I found my pipe. How a
feller's goin' to keep run of 'em is what _I_ can't see."

"You was the one that did most of the growlin' when things was the old
way."

"Yes, but jest 'cause a man don't want to live in a pigpen it ain't no
sign he wants to be put under a glass case."

Elsie's influence upon the house and its inmates had become almost as
marked as Mrs. Snow's. The young lady was of an artistic bent, and the
stiff ornaments in the shut-up parlor and the wonderful oil-paintings
jarred upon her. Strange to say, even the wax-dipped wreath that hung
in its circular black frame over the whatnot did not appeal to her.
The captains considered that wreath--it had been the principal floral
offering at the funeral of Captain Perez's sister, and there was a lock
of her hair framed with it--the gem of the establishment. They could
understand, to a certain degree, why Miss Preston objected to the
prominence given the spatter-work "God bless our Home" motto, but her
failure to enthuse over the wreath was inexplicable.

But by degrees they became used to seeing the blinds open at the parlor
windows the week through, and innovations like muslin curtains and vases