are not tidy, but I’d keep them neat, and I know you’d like it,”
broke in Merrry, glad of the chance to get one of the long-desired
wishes of her heart fulfilled.
“I’ll fetch you some next time I go over to Ballad’s. Tell me what
you want, and we’ll have a posy bed somewhere round, see if we
don’t,” said her father, dimly understanding what she wanted.
“Now, if mother says I may fix my room, I shall be satisfied, and
I’ll do my chores without a bit of fuss, to show how grateful I am,”
said the girl, thanking her father with a kiss, and smiling at her
mother so wistfully that the good woman could not refuse.
“You may have anything you like out of the blue chest. There’s a
lot of things there that the moths got at after Grandma died, and I
couldn’t bear to throw or give ’em away. Trim up your room as you
like, and mind you don’t forget your part of the bargain,” answered
Mrs. Grant, seeing profit in the plan.
“I won’t; I’ll work all the morning to-morrow, and in the afternoon
I’ll get ready to show you what I call a nice, pretty room,”
answered Merry, looking so pleased it seemed as if another flower
had blossomed in the large bare kitchen.
She kept her word, and the very stormy afternoon when Jill got
into trouble, Merry was working busily at her little bower. In the
blue chest she found a variety of treasures, and ignoring the moth
holes, used them to the best advantage, trying to imitate the simple
comfort with a touch of elegance which prevailed in Mrs. Minot’s
back bedroom.
Three faded red-moreen curtains went up at the windows over the
chilly paper shades, giving a pleasant glow to the bare walls. A red
quilt with white stars, rather the worse for many washings, covered
the bed, and a gay cloth the table, where a judicious arrangement
of books and baskets concealed the spots. The little air-tight stove
was banished, and a pair of ancient andirons shone in the fire-light.
Grandma’s last and largest braided rug lay on the hearth, and her
brass candlesticks adorned the bureau, over the mirror of which
was festooned a white muslin skirt, tied up with Merry’s red sash.
This piece of elegance gave the last touch to her room, she
thought, and she was very proud of it, setting forth all her small
store of trinkets in a large shell, with an empty scent bottle, and a
clean tidy over the pincushion. On the walls she hung three
old-fashioned pictures, which she ventured to borrow from the
garret till better could be found. One a mourning piece, with a
very tall lady weeping on an urn in a grove of willows, and two
small boys in knee breeches and funny little square tails to their
coats, looking like cherubs in large frills. The other was as good as
a bonfire, being an eruption of Vesuvius, and very lurid indeed, for
the Bay of Naples was boiling like a pot, the red sky raining rocks,
and a few distracted people lying flat upon the shore. The third
was a really pretty scene of children dancing round a May-pole, for
though nearly a hundred years old, the little maids smiled and the
boys pranced as gayly as if the flowers they carried were still alive
and sweet.
“Now I’ll call them all to see, and say that it is pretty. Then I’ll
enjoy it, and come here when things look dismal and bare
everywhere else,” said Merry, when at last it was done. She had
worked all the afternoon, and only finished at supper time, so the
candles had to be lighted that the toilette might look its best, and
impress the beholders with an idea of true elegance. Unfortunately,
the fire smoked a little, and a window was set ajar to clear the
room; an evil disposed gust blew in, wafting the thin drapery
within reach of the light, and when Merry threw open the door
proudly thinking to display her success, she was horrified to find
the room in a blaze, and half her labor all in vain.