present by a sound of voices in the next room--some servant or other
speaking to Mrs. Hamley. Molly hurried to unpack her box, and arrange
her few clothes in the pretty old-fashioned chest of drawers, which was
to serve her as dressing-table as well. All the furniture in the room
was as old-fashioned and as well-preserved as it could be. The chintz
curtains were Indian calico of the last century--the colours almost
washed out, but the stuff itself exquisitely clean. There was a little
strip of bedside carpeting, but the wooden flooring, thus liberally
displayed, was of finely-grained oak, so firmly joined, plank to plank,
that no grain of dust could make its way into the interstices. There
were none of the luxuries of modern days; no writing-table, or sofa, or
pier-glass. In one corner of the walls was a bracket, holding an Indian
jar filled with pot-pourri; and that and the climbing honeysuckle
outside the open window scented the room more exquisitely than any
_toilette_ perfumes. Molly laid out her white gown (of last year's date
and size) upon the bed, ready for the (to her new) operation of
dressing for dinner, and having arranged her hair and dress, and taken
out her company worsted-work,' she opened the door softly, and saw Mrs.
Hamley lying on the sofa.

'Shall we stay up here, m dear? I think it is pleasanter than down
below; and then I shall not have to come upstairs again at dressing-
time.'

'I shall like it very much,' replied Molly.

'Ah! you've got your sewing, like a good girl,' said Mrs. Hamley. 'Now,
I don't sew much. I live alone a great deal. You see, both my boys are
at Cambridge, and the squire is out of doors all day long--so I have
almost forgotten how to sew. I read a great deal. Do you like reading?'