spite of its prosperity, everything about it wore a dreary air, as if
it were tired of being too well kept; for houses are like people, and
carry their own indefinable atmosphere with them. Mrs. Wilson herself
lived on a narrower and more secluded street, though it was said that
her husband, if he had not defied the old Judge in some crucial matter,
might have studied law with him, and possibly shared his speculations
in wool. Then he, too, might have risen to be one of the first men in
the county, instead of working, in his moderate fashion, for little
more than day's wages. Claribel, a pale, dark-eyed child, also dressed
in her best gingham, walked seriously by her grandmother's side.
Lucindy was waiting for them at the door.

"I declare!" she called, delightedly. "I was 'most afraid you'd forgot
to come! Well, Claribel, if you 'ain't grown! They'll have to put a
brick on your head, or you'll be taller'n grandma."

Claribel submitted to be kissed, and they entered the large, cool
sitting-room, where they took off their things.

"You make yourself at home, Jane," said Lucindy, fluttering about, in
pleasant excitement. "I ain't goin' to pay you a mite of attention till
I see Claribel fixed. Now, Claribel, remember! you can go anywheres
you're a mind to. And you can touch anything there is. You won't find a
thing a little girl can hurt. Here, you come here where I be, and look
across the entry. See that big lamp on the table? Well, if you unhook
them danglin' things and peek through 'em, you'll find the brightest
colors! My, how pretty they be! I've been lookin' through 'em this
mornin'. I used to creep in and do it when I was little," she
continued, in an aside to Mrs. Wilson. "Once I lost one." A strange
look settled on her face; she was recalling a bitter experience.