room and looking at her theatre gown, that--in default of a clean
closet--she had hung from the gas fixture the night before. From the
direction of the kitchen came the sounds of the newly engaged "girl"
making the fire for breakfast, while through the register a thin
wisp of blue smoke curled upward to prove that the "hired man" was
tinkering with the unused furnace. The room itself was in lamentable
confusion. Crates and packing boxes encumbered the uncarpeted floor;
chairs wrapped in excelsior and jute were piled one upon another; a
roll of carpet leaned in one corner and a pile of mattresses
occupied another.

As Laura considered the prospect she realised her blunder.

"Why, and oh, why," she murmured, "didn't we stay at the hotel till
all this was straightened out?"

But in an adjoining room she heard Aunt Wess' stirring. She turned
to Page, who upon the pillows beside her still slept, her stocking
around her neck as a guarantee against draughts.

"Page, Page! Wake up, girlie. It's late, and there's worlds to do."

Page woke blinking.

"Oh, it's freezing cold, Laura. Let's light the oil stove and stay
in bed till the room gets warm. Oh, dear, aren't you sleepy, and,
oh, wasn't last night lovely? Which one of us will get up to light
the stove? We'll count for it. Lie down, sissie, dear," she begged,
"you're letting all the cold air in."