“It isn’t a place to forbid children out of, is it?” asked Asenath.

“I should think the only condition would be their own best behavior,” returned her husband.

“They’re almost always good down here,” said Bel.  “Children like to be where things are doing.  They always feel put away, out of the good times, I think, in a nursery.”

“My housekeeping is all turning round on a new pivot,” said Sin to Frank, after they were seated again up-stairs.  “Don’t take up the ‘Skelligs’ yet; I want to tell you.  If I thought the pivot would really stay, there are two or three more things I should do.  And one of them is,—­I’d have the nursery—­a day-nursery—­down-stairs; that is, if I could coax you into it.”

“It seems the new pivot is two very large ‘ifs,’” said Frank, laughing.  “And not much space to turn in, either.  Would you take the cellar, or build out?  And if so, where?”

“I’d take the dining-room, Frank; and eat in the back parlor.”

“I wish you would.  I don’t like dining-rooms.  I was brought up to a back parlor.”

“You do?  You don’t?  You were?  Why, Frank, I thought you’d hate it,” cried Asenath, pouring forth her exclamations all in a heap, and coming round to lean upon his shoulder.  “I wish I’d told you before!  Just think of those south dining-room windows that they’ll have the good of all the forenoon, and that all we do with is to shade them down at dinner-time!  And the horse-chestnut tree, and the grape-vines, making it green and pleasant, by and by!  And the saving of going over the stairs, and the times one of the girls might help me when I couldn’t ring her away up to my room; and the tending of table, with baby only to be looked after in here.  Why, I should sit here, myself, mornings, always; and everything would be all together and the up-stairs work,—­it would be better than two nurse-girls to have it so!”

“Then why not have it so right off?  The more you turn on your pivot, the smoother it gets, you know.  And the more nicely you balance and concentrate, the longer your machine will last.”

Asenath lay awake late, and woke early, that night and the next morning, “planning.”

When Frank saw a certain wide, intent, shining, “don’t-speak-to-me” look in her eyes, he always knew that she was “planning.”  And he had found that out of her plans almost always resulted some charming novelty, at least, that gave one the feeling of beginning life over again; if it were only the putting of his bureau on the other side of the room, so that he started the wrong way for a few days, whenever he wanted to get a clean collar; or the setting the bedstead with side instead of head to the wall; issuing in delightful bewilderments of mind, when wakened suddenly and asked to find a match or turn up the dressing-room gas in the night, to meet some emergency of the baby’s.