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III—INTRODUCED

THE house in which the late Jethro Somerton had lived was a plain wooden structure, entered by a door opening directly into a room which had been used as a sitting room. Behind this was a kitchen, beside which was a bedroom, while in front, beside the sitting room, was a "best room" or parlor. There was a second floor, in which were four rooms, some of which had never been used. The ceilings throughout the house were so low that Philip, who was quite tall, could touch them with his finger-tips when he stood on tiptoe. The walls of the sitting room and parlor were hard-finished and white; all the other walls were rough and whitewashed.

"This is quite out of the question, as a home," said Philip. "No hall, no—"

"Why not make believe that the sitting room is a square hall?" Grace asked. "They're the rage in the swell villages around New York."

"But there's no bath room."

"We can make one, on the upper floor, where we've rooms to spare."

"Perhaps; but 'tis very improbable that the town has a water service."

"Then have a tank, fed from the roof or by a pump, as Aunt Eunice has in her cottage, smaller than this and in a town no larger than Claybanks."

"No furnace, of course, to warm the house, and—ugh!—I don't believe the town knows of the existence of coal, for both stoves at the store are fed with wood."

"So they were, and—oh, I see! Here are fireplaces in the sitting-room—or hall, I suppose I should say—and in the parlor! Think how unutterably we longed for the unattainable—that is, an open wood fire—in our little flat in the city!"

"But, dear girl, a fireplace grows cold at night."

"Quite likely; but don't you suppose the principal merchant in town could economize on something so as to afford enough quilts and blankets to keep his family from freezing to death while they sleep?"

"You angel, you've all the brains of the family. Where did you learn so much about houses? And about what to do when you don't find what you want in them? And who taught you?"

"I suppose necessity taught me," Grace replied, with a laugh, "and within the past few minutes, too. For, don't you see, we must live in this house. There seems to be no other place for us. And I suppose 'tis instinct for women, rather than men, to see the possibilities of houses, for a woman has to spend most of her life indoors."

Then she walked slowly toward the kitchen, where she contemplated the stove, two grease-spotted tables, and four fly-specked walls. Philip followed her, saying:—

"What a den! Money must be spent here at once, and—oh, Grace! You're crying? Come here—quick! I never before saw tears in your eyes!"

"And you never shall again," Grace sobbed. "I don't see what can be the matter with me; it must be the cold weather that has—"

"This forlorn barn of a house and this shabby, God-forsaken town have broken your heart!" exclaimed Philip. "I wish I too could cry. I assure you my heart has been in my boots, though I've tried hard to keep it in its proper place. Don't let's remain here another hour. I'll gladly abandon my inheritance to the benevolent societies. We'll hurry back to the city and let our things follow us."

"But we can't, Phil, for we've burned our bridges behind us. We can take only such money as will get us back, and we would not be certain of employment on reaching the city. Besides, we told our acquaintances of our good fortune, but not of its conditions; if we go back, they will suspect you and pity me."

"You're right—you're right!" said Philip, from behind tightly closed jaws. "Why hadn't I sense to get leave of absence for a week, and look at the gift before accepting it? Still, we're alive; we have the money, and the first and best use of it is to make you comfortable. I'll get Caleb to get me some men at once,—one of them to make fires, and the others to bring over and unpack our goods. In the meanwhile, you shall at least keep warm in the office of the store. You'll have only barrels of molasses and vinegar and bales of grain-sacks for company, but—"

"But my husband won't be farther away than the next room," Grace said, "and the door between shall remain open."

Then Philip kissed the tears from her eyes, and Grace called herself an unreasonable baby, and Philip called himself an unpardonable donkey, and they returned together to the store, entering softly by the back door, so that Caleb should not see them and join them at once. But dingy though the back windows of the office were, Caleb, standing behind one of them, said to himself:—

"Rubbin' her face with her handkerchief!—that means she's been cryin'. Well, I should think she would, if city houses are anythin' like the picture-papers make 'em out to be."

Caleb retired to the store, where Phil joined him after a few moments, and said:—

"We shall live in the old house, Mr. Wright. My wife and I have been looking it over, and we see how it can be made very comfortable."

"You do, eh?" Caleb replied; at the same time his face expressed so much astonishment that Philip laughed, and said:—

"You mustn't mistake us for a pair of city upstarts. My wife, as she told you, was a country girl; she went to New York only a few years ago, and 'twas only four years since I passed through here on my way to the city. We're strong enough and brave enough to take anything as we find it, if we can't make it better. That reminds me that the old house can be bettered in many ways. Is there a plumber in the town?"

"No, sir!" replied Caleb, with emphasis, and a show of indignation such as might have been expected were he asked if Claybanks supported a gambling den. "We've read about 'em, in the city papers, an' I reckon one of 'em would starve to death if he come out here, unless the boys run him out of town first."

"H'm! I'm going to beg you to restrain the boys when I coax a plumber here from the nearest city, for a few days' work in the house. And I've another favor to ask; you know people here, and I don't, as yet. Won't you find me two or three men, this morning—at once—to unpack my things that came from the city, and put them into the house? When they're ready to move them, I wish you'd make some excuse to coax my wife out here, so that I can slip down to the house, without her knowledge, and prepare a surprise for her by placing all our belongings about as they were in our rooms in the city."

"Good for you! Good for you!" exclaimed Caleb, rubbing his hands. "If you're that kind o' man, I reckon you're deservin' of her. Most men's so busy with their own affairs, or so careless, that women comin' to a new country have a back-breakin' time of it, an' a heart-breakin' too. I dunno, though, that I can keep her away from you long enough. From her ways,—the little I've seen of 'em,—I reckon she's one o' the kind o' wives that sticks to her husband like hot tar to a sheep's wool."

"Oh, you'll have no trouble, for she already has taken a great liking to you."

"I recippercate the sentiment," said Caleb, again rubbing his hands. "I don't know much, but a man can't work in a country store about twenty year or more without sizin' up new specimens of human nature powerful quick, an' makin' mighty few mistakes at it. You'll find out how it is. All of a sudden, some day, a new settler, that you never saw before, 'll come