So it was; although the carpenters and painters and glaziers were still at work, and the piles of Kinzer furniture had to be stored around as best could be.  Some part of them had even to be locked up over night in one of the barns.

The Kinzers, for generations, had been a trifle weak about furniture; and that was one of the reasons why there had been so little room for human beings in their house.  The little parlor, indeed, had been filled until it put one in mind of a small furniture-store, with not room enough to show the stock on hand; and some of the other parts of the house required knowledge and care to walk about in them.  It was bad for a small house, truly, but not so much so when the same articles were given a fair chance to spread themselves.

It was a treat to Dab to watch while the new carpets were put down, and see how much more at home and comfortable all that furniture looked, after it was moved into its new quarters.  He remarked to Keziah,—­

“It won’t be of any use for anybody to try to sit on that sofa and play the piano.  They’ll have to get up and come over.”

Mrs. Kinzer took good care that the house she left should speak well of her to the eyes of Mrs. Foster, when that lady came to superintend the arrival of her own household goods.

The character of these, by the way, at once convinced the village gossips that “lawyer Foster must be a good deal forehanded in money matters.”  And so he was, even more so than his furniture indicated.

Ford had a wonderful deal to do with the settlement of his family in their new home; and it was not until nearly the close of the week that he found time for more than an occasional glance over the north fence, although he and Dab had several times exchanged a word or two when they met each other on the road.

“Take the two farms together,” his father had said to him, “and they make a really fine estate.  I learn, too, that the Kinzers have other property.  Your young acquaintance is likely to have a very good start in the world.”

Ford had found out very nearly as much as that on his own account; but he had long since learned the uselessness of trying to teach his father any thing, however well he might succeed with ordinary people, and so he said nothing.

“Dabney,” said Mrs. Kinzer, that Friday evening, “you’ve been a great help all the week.  Suppose you take the ponies to-morrow morning, and ask young Foster out for a drive.”

“Mother,” exclaimed Samantha, “I shall want the ponies myself.  I’ve some calls to make, and some shopping.  Dabney will have to drive.”

“No, Sam,” said Dabney:  “if you go out with the ponies to-morrow, you’ll have my old clothes to drive you.  I’ll go and speak to them about it.”

“What do you mean?” asked Samantha.

“I mean, with Dick Lee in them.”

“That would be just as well,” said Mrs. Kinzer.  “The ponies are gentle enough, and Dick drives well.  He’ll be glad enough to go.”