And, of course,
it was--more in keeping to restore the house as it was, than to--"
"Well, I s'pose that's so," conceded Mrs. Dodge, her quick dark eyes
busy with the renovated interior. "I'd sort of forgot how it did look
when the Boltons was livin' here. But speaking of furniture; I see
Mrs. Judge Fulsom let you have the old sofa. I remember she got it at
the auction; she's kept it in her parlor ever since."
"Yes," said Lydia. "I was only too happy to give a hundred dollars
for the sofa. It has been excellently preserved."
"A hundred dollars!" echoed Mrs. Dix. "Well!"
Mrs. Dodge giggled excitedly, like a young girl.
"A hundred dollars!" she repeated. "Well, I want to know!"
The two women exchanged swift glances.
"You wouldn't want to buy any pieces that had been broke, I s'pose,"
suggested Mrs. Dodge.
"If they can be repaired, I certainly do," replied Lydia.
"Mother!" expostulated Fanny, in a low but urgent tone. "Ellen and
I--we really ought to be going."
The girl's face glowed with shamed crimson. She felt haughty and
humiliated and angry all at once. It was not to be borne.
Mrs. Dix was not listening to Fanny Dodge.
"I bid in the big, four-post mahogany bed at the auction," she said,
"and the bureau to match; an' I believe there are two or three chairs
about the house."
"We've got a table," chimed in Mrs. Dodge; "but one leg give away,
an' I had it put up in the attic years ago. And Fanny's got a bed and
bureau in her room that was painted white, with little pink flowers
tied up with blue ribbons.
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