The rooms of the house were low, but large; and some of the windows had twelve-paned sashes,—­twenty-four to a window.  Mrs. Ripwinkley was charmed with these also.  They were like the windows at Mile Hill.

Mrs. Ledwith, although greatly relieved by her sister’s prompt decision for the house which she did not want, felt it in her conscience to remonstrate a little.

“You have just come down from the mountains, Frank, after your twenty-five years’ sleep; you’ve seen nothing by and by you will think differently.  This house is fearfully old-fashioned, fearfully; and it’s away down here on the wrong side of the hill.  You can never get up over Summit Street from here.”

“We are used to hills, and walking.”

“But I mean—­that isn’t all.  There are other things you won’t be able to get over.  You’ll never shake off Aspen Street dust,—­you nor the children.”

“I don’t think it is dusty.  It is quiet, and sheltered, and clean.  I like it ever so much,” said Mrs. Ripwinkley.

“O, dear, you don’t understand in the least!  It’s wicked to let you go on so!  You poor, dear, simple little old soul!”

“Never mind,” said Mrs. Megilp.  “It’s all well enough for the present.  It pleases the old gentleman, you know; and after all he’s done, he ought to be pleased.  One of you should certainly be in his neighborhood. He has been here from time immemorial; and any place grows respectable by staying in it long enough—­from choice.  Nobody will wonder at Mrs. Ripwinkley’s coming here at his request.  And when she does move, you see, she will know exactly what she is about.”

“I almost doubt if she ever will know what she is about,” said Laura.

“In that case,—­well,”—­said Mrs. Megilp, and stopped, because it really was not in the least needful to say more.

Mrs. Megilp felt it judicious, for many reasons, that Mrs. Ripwinkley should he hidden away for awhile, to get that mountain sleep out of her eyes, if it should prove possible; just as we rub old metal with oil and put it by till the rust comes off.

The Ledwiths decided upon a house in Shubarton Place that would not seem quite like taking old Uncle Titus’s money and rushing away with it as far as city limits would allow; and Laura really did wish to have the comfort of her sister’s society, in a cozy way, of mornings, up in her room; that was her chief idea about it.  There were a good many times and things in which she scarcely expected much companionship from Frank.  She would not have said even to herself, that Frank was rusty; and she would do her faithful and good-natured best to rub her up; but there was an instinct with her of the congruous and the incongruous; and she would not do her Bath-brick polishing out on the public promenade.