This, her sanctum sanctorum, was a roomy apartment with three windows, each shaded by white cotton curtains.  On the floor was a home-made carpet; no hand was employed in its manufacture save its owner’s, from the time she commenced tearing the rags in strips, to the final blow given to the last tack that confined it to the floor.  A very high post bedstead, over which were suspended white cotton curtains, gave an air of grandeur to one side of the room.  No one had slept in it for ten years, though it was made with faultless precision.  The quilt over it contained pieces of every calico and gingham dress that had been worn in the Weston family since the Revolution, and in the centre had been transferred from a remnant of curtain calico, an eagle with outstretched wings.  The pillow cases were finished off with tape trimming, Alice’s work, at Cousin Janet’s suggestion.  Over an old fashioned-mahogany bureau hung an oval looking glass, which was carefully covered from the flies.  An easy chair stood by the window at the foot of the bed, which had, like most of the other ancient looking pieces of furniture, occupied a conspicuous place in Mr. Weston’s house.  Six chairs planted with unyielding stiffness against the walls seemed to grow out of the carpet; and the very high fender enclosed a pair of andirons that any body with tolerable eyesight could have seen their faces in.

Over the mantel piece were suspended two pictures.  One was a likeness of Mr. Weston, cut in paper over a black surface, with both hands behind him, and his right foot foremost; the other was a picture of the Shepherds in Pilgrim’s Progress, gazing through a spy-glass at the Celestial city.  Alice’s first sampler, framed in a black frame, hung on one side of the room, and over it was a small sword which used to swing by Arthur’s side, when receiving lessons in military science from Bacchus, who, in his own opinion, was another Bonaparte.  Into this room Phillis’s children gazed with wondering eyes; and those among the plantation servants who had been honored with a sight of it, declared it superior, in every respect, to their master’s drawing room; holding in especial reverence a small table, covered with white, which supported the weight of Phillis’s family Bible, where were registered in Arthur’s and Alice’s handwriting, the births of all her twelve descendants, as well as the ceremony which united her to their illustrious father.

Phillis was ironing away with a good heart, when she was interrupted by a summons to attend her master in the library.  She obeyed it with very little delay, and found Mr. Weston seated in his arm-chair, looking over a note which he held in his hand.

“Come in, Phillis,” he said, in a kind but grave manner.  “I want to speak with you for a few moments; and as I have always found you truthful, I have no doubt you will be perfectly so on the present occasion.”

“What is it, master?” Phillis said, respectfully.