sittin'-room, so you can eat in your shirt-sleeves, if that'll
quiet your mind."

With the aspect of a November day Mr. Atwood got out the great
farm-wagon and jogged down to the landing on the Hudson, which was
so distant as to insure his absence for several hours.

It was a busy day for Mrs. Atwood and Susan. Fresh bread and cake
were to be baked, and the rooms "tidied up" once more. A pitcher
that had lost its handle was filled with old-fashioned roses that
persisted in blooming in a grass-choked flower-bed. This was placed
in the room designed for Mrs. Jocelyn and the children, while the
one flower vase, left unbroken from the days of Roger's boyish
carelessness, adorned the smaller apartment that Mildred and Belle
were to occupy, and this was about the only element of elegance or
beauty that Susan was able to impart part to the bare little room.
Even to the country girl, to whom the term "decorative art" was but
a vague phrase, the place seemed meagre and hard in its outlines,
and she instinctively felt that it would appear far more so to its
occupants.

"But it's the best we can afford," she sighed; "and at the prices
they'll pay us they shouldn't complain."

Still the day was full of pleasurable excitement and anticipation
to the young girl. She was aware that her mother's tasks and her
own would be greatly increased, but on the other hand the monotony
of the farm-house life would be broken, and in the more distant
future she saw a vista of new gowns, a jaunty winter hat with a
feather, and other like conditions of unalloyed happiness. Susan