"It was all sold
about here, wasn't it? And don't you think if I was willing to pay a
great deal for it people would--"
"'Course they would!" cried Mrs. Daggett, with cheerful assurance.
"They'd be tickled half to death to get money for it. But, you see,
dearie, it's a long time ago, and some folks have moved away, and
there's been two or three fires, and I suppose some are not as
careful as others; still--"
The smile faded on the girl's lips.
"But I can get some of it back; don't you think I can? I--I've quite
set my heart on--restoring the house. I want it just as it used to
be. The old furniture would suit the house so much better; don't you
think it would?"
Mrs. Daggett clapped her plump hands excitedly.
"I've just thought of a way!" she exclaimed. "And I'll bet it'll
work, too. You know Henry he keeps th' post office; an' 'most
everybody for miles around comes after their mail to th' store. I'll
tell him to put up a sign, right where everybody will see; something
like this: 'Miss Lydia Orr wants to buy the old furniture of the
Bolton house.' And you might mention casual you'd pay good prices
for it. 'Twas real good, solid furniture, I remember.... Come to
think of it, Mrs. Bolton collected quite a lot of it right 'round
here. She was a city girl when she married Andrew Bolton, an' she
took a great interest in queer old things. She bought a big tall
clock out of somebody's attic, and four-posted beds, the kind folks
used to sleep in, an' outlandish old cracked china plates with scenes
on 'em.
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