Of course the paint is pretty well rubbed
off; but--"
"Oh, might I have that set?" cried Lydia, turning to Fanny. "Perhaps
you've grown fond of it and won't want to give it up. But I--I'd pay
almost anything for it. And of course I shall want the mahogany,
too."
"Well, we didn't know," explained Mrs. Dix, with dignity. "We got
those pieces instead of the money we'd ought to have had from the
estate. There was a big crowd at the auction, I remember; but nobody
really wanted to pay anything for the old furniture. A good deal of
it had come out of folks' attics in the first place."
"I shall be glad to pay three hundred dollars for the mahogany bed
and bureau," said Lydia. "And for the little white set--"
"I don't care to part with my furniture," said Fanny Dodge, her
pretty round chin uplifted.
She was taller than Lydia, and appeared to be looking over her head
with an intent stare at the freshly papered wall beyond.
"For pity sake!" exclaimed her mother sharply. "Why, Fanny, you could
buy a brand new set, an' goodness knows what-all with the money.
What's the matter with you?"
"I know just how Fanny feels about having her room changed," put in
Ellen Dix, with a spirited glance at the common enemy. "There are
things that money can't buy, but some people don't seem to think so."
Lydia's blue eyes had clouded swiftly.
"If you'll come into the library," she said, "we'll have some
lemonade. It's so very warm I'm sure we are all thirsty.
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