"Oh, Polly, didn't you get more than that?" said Jasper, quite
disappointed for her, for Polly dearly loved to take photographs. "Oh,
you've let Adela Gray take your kodak," he added; "it's a shame I
didn't give you mine. Take it now, Polly," he begged, slinging off the
leather strap from his shoulder.

"No, no," said Polly, "I don't want to, Jasper, and I wanted Adela to
take it, and don't let her hear us, she may come back from the other
room;"--for Adela had disappeared with the kodak; "and it's all right,
Jasper," she finished up incoherently.

"Aren't these queer beds, Mrs. Fisher?" the parson's wife was saying,
peering into the shelves against the side of the wall, boarded up, with
doors swung open inviting inspection.

"The idea of sleeping in one of them!" exclaimed Mrs. Fisher,
inspecting the interior with a sharp eye. "They're clean enough and as
neat as a pink"--with a critical glance along the white lace spread and
the immaculate pillow--"but to be shut up in a box like that. I should
as soon go to bed in a bureau drawer."

"So should I," laughed the parson's wife; "and look at the artificial
flowers hanging up over the head, and that picture pinned, above the
foot. Well, well, well, and so that is a Dutch bed!"

"There are a good many kinds and sorts of Dutch beds, I suppose,"
observed Mrs. Fisher, turning away, "just as there are a good many
American ones; but I hope there aren't many of this particular kind."