so small an' crowded,' says she, 'an' you can't see the river from there;
I want a place to sit out evenings. Can't I have the fireplaces in my
rooms unbricked,' she went on, 'an' the rooms re-papered an' painted?
An', oh,--I've never lived in a house where there wasn't a bathroom
before, an' I want to make that big closet with a window off my bedroom
into one. We'll have a door cut through it into the hall, too,' says she,
'an' isn't there a closet just like it overhead? If we can get a plumber
here--they're such slippery customers--he might as well put in two
bathrooms as one, while he's about it, an' you shan't do my great
washin's any more without some good set-tubs. An' Mrs. Gray, kerosene
lamps do heat up the rooms so in summer,--if there's an electrician
anywhere around here--' 'Mrs. Cary,' says I, 'you're an angel right out
of Heaven, but we can't accept all this from you. It means two thousand
dollars, straight.' 'About what I should pay in two months for my living
expenses anywhere else,' says she. 'Favors! It's you who are kind to let
me stay here, an' not mind my tearin' your house all to pieces. Thomas is
goin' to drive me up to Wallacetown this evenin' to see if we can find
some mechanics'; an' she got up, an' kissed me, an' strolled off."

"Thomas thinks she's the eighth wonder of the world," said his father;
"she can just wind him around her little finger."

"She's windin' us all," replied his wife, "an' we're standin'
grateful-like, waitin' to be wound."

"That's so--all except Austin. Austin's mad as a hatter at what she got
him to do Sunday morning; he doesn't like her, Mary."

"Humph!" said his wife.