Gerry laughed cheerily.

“Oh, no, auntie, only just the things up in the attic that you can spare as well as not.  You know you’d rather someone would have the use of them than to have them wasted up there.  Couldn’t we go up now and see?  I ought to hurry a little.  I may have to go to lots of places before I get enough.”

Aunt Serinda turned, and led the way up stairs without a word.

“There is a bed,” she admitted when they stood under the peaked roof.  “I took it down from the spare room when Mary Ellen bought the brass one to sleep in when she comes.  The mattress wouldn’t fit any other; so I suppose it might as well go along.  There’s some patchwork quilts in that chest, too, that Mary Ellen never liked.  I guess you could have some of those.”

It was very exciting, picking out and setting aside.  Just why Aunt Serinda, with all her abundance, had treasured so many old things was a question.  Probably it was because few people knew the keys to her heart as Gerry did, and so no one had ever asked her for them.  And it was not Aunt Serinda’s nature to give without asking.

[Illustration:  “It was very exciting, picking out and setting aside.”]

Once started, however, it seemed to be easy enough.

“Those chairs over there,” she said finally, dusting her hands upon her apron when the collection had grown to a very respectable size, “they don’t need much mending; I guess James can do it to-night.  How are you going to get all this stuff over to the barn?”

“I don’t know.”  Gerry paused aghast.  “I never once thought of that.  I’ll find a way, though, or make it.”

“Yes, I expect you would,” said Aunt Serinda, smiling grimly; “but this time you needn’t.  I’ll have James hitch up the long wagon and take ’em over when you’re ready, and he could pick up anything else you collect, on the way.”

Gerry stood for a minute with shining eyes, irresolute.  Then she flew at Aunt Serinda, and, throwing both arms around that astonished person’s neck, planted a warm kiss on the nearest cheek.

“Auntie, you’re a—­a winter apple!  Just as crisp and reliable and sweet inside!  I like you.”

“Mercy me!” said Aunt Serinda, quite abashed.  “Mercy me!”

The quarter of a mile down the road to Mrs. Squires’ house seemed to slide from under Gerry’s feet.  Mrs. Squires was round and rosy and sympathetic.

“Why, yes, my dear, of course, I’ll help.  I’m through cleaning, and there are some things I’ve been wondering what to do with.  I haven’t any beds, but there is a rusty cook-stove in the cellar that I’ll be only too glad to have you take.  I should think it could be cleaned up and do very well.”

“Oh, yes, thank you,” said Gerry eagerly; “I can black it and all that.  And Aunt Serinda’s James will come for it.”

There were several additions to the cook-stove before Gerry hurried on to Judge Beaker’s, following the suggestion that the Beaker girls had just refurnished their bedroom.