“She’s eat in here afore now —­ and I guess she can again,” said old Karen, in a tone of voice which spoke her by no means so discomposed as Clam’s words would seem to justify.

Perhaps Elizabeth herself had a thought or two on the close quarters which would be the infallible result of Mrs. Haye’s seizure of the old ‘keeping-room.’

The twenty-seventh, spite of Karen’s understanding of the weather, was a rainy day.  The twenty-eighth, Karen and Anderese went to Pimpernel on their furniture hunting, and came back at night with the articles, selected somewhat in accordance with a limited experience of the usual contents of a cabinet-maker’s warehouse.  The very next day, Elizabeth set Anderese to foisting out and putting together her little old boat, the Merry-go-round.  Putting together, literally; she was dropping to pieces from the effects of years and confinement.  Anderese was hardly equal to the business; Elizabeth sent for better help from Mountain Spring, and watched rather eagerly the restoring of her favourite to strength and beauty.  Watched and pressed the work, as if she was in a hurry.  But after tightening and caulking, the boat must be repainted.  Elizabeth watched the doing of that; and bargained for a pair of light oars with her friend the workman.  He was an old, respectable-looking man, of no particular calling, that appeared.

“Where was this here boat built?” he inquired one day as he was at work and Elizabeth looking on.

“It was built in Mannahatta.”

“A good while ago, likely?”

“Yes, it was.”

“Did this here belong to old Squire Landholm?”

“No.”

“’Twa’n’t fetched here lately, I guess, was it?”

“No —­ it has lain here a long time.”

“Who did it belong to, then?”

“It belonged to me.”

“Is it your’n now?” said the man looking up at her.

“No,” said Elizabeth colouring, —­ “it is not; but it belongs to a friend of mine.”

“Was you ever in these parts before?”

“Some time ago.”

“Then you knew the old family, likely?”

“Yes, I did.”

“There was fine stuff in them Landholms,” said the old man, perhaps supplied with the figure by the timber he was nailing, —­ “real what I call good stuff —­ parents and children.  There was a great deal of good in all of ’em; only the boys took notions they wouldn’t be nothin’ but ministers or lawyers or some sort o’ people that wears black coats and don’t have to roll up their trowsers for nothin’.  They were clever lads, too.  I don’t mean to say nothin’ agin ’em.”

“Do you know how they’re gettin’ on?” he asked after a pause on his part and on Elizabeth’s.

“I believe Asahel is with his father, —­ gone West.”

“Ay, ay; but I mean the others —­ them two that went to College.  I ha’n’t seen Rufus for a great spell —­ I went down and fetched up Winthrop when his mother died.”