The ‘big bedroom,’ which belonged to the strangers by right of usage, opened from the kitchen; with another door upon the tiny entry-way once described.  It had a fireplace, at present full of green pine bushes; a very clean bed covered with patchwork; the plainest of chairs and a table; and a little bit of carpet on one spot of the floor; the rest was painted.  One little window looked to the south; another to the east; the woodwork, of doors and windows, exceeding homely and unpainted.  An extraordinary gay satin toilet-cushion; and over it a little looking-glass, surrounded and surmounted with more than an equal surface of dark carved wooden framing.

It was to this unwonted prospect that the early June sun opened the young ladies’ eyes the next morning.  Elizabeth had surveyed it quietly a few minutes, when a little rustling of the patchwork called her attention to the shaking shoulders of her companion.  Miss Cadwallader’s pretty face lay back on the pillow, her eyes shut tight, and her open mouth expressing all the ecstatic delight that could be expressed without sound.

“What is the matter?” said Elizabeth.

Her cousin only laughed the harder and clapped her hands over her eyes, as if quite beyond control of herself.  Elizabeth did not ask again.

“Isn’t this a funny place we’ve come to!” said Miss Cadwallader at last, relapsing.

“I don’t see anything very laughable,” said Elizabeth.

“But isn’t it a quizzical place?”

“I dare say.  Every place is.”

“Pshaw! don’t be obstinate, —­ when you think just as I do.”

“I never did yet, about anything,” said Elizabeth.

“Well, how do you like eating in a room with a great dresser of tin dishes on one side and the fire where your meat was cooked on the other? —­ in June?”

“I didn’t see the tin dishes; and there wasn’t any fire, of consequence.”

“But did you ever see such a gallant old farmer?  Isn’t he comical? didn’t he keep it up?”

“Not better than you did,” said Elizabeth.

“But isn’t he comical?”

“No; neither comical nor old.  I thought you seemed to like him very well.”

“O, one must do something.  La! you aren’t going to get up yet?”

But Elizabeth was already at the south window and had it open.  Early it was; the sun not more than half an hour high, and taking his work coolly, like one who meant to do a great deal before the day was ended.  A faint dewy sparkle on the grass and the sweetbriars; the song sparrows giving good-morrow to each other and tuning their throats for the day; and a few wood thrushes now and then telling of their shyer and rarer neighbourhood.  The river was asleep, it seemed, it lay so still.

“Lizzie! —­ you ought to be in bed yet these two hours —­ I shall tell Mr. Haye, if you don’t take care of yourself.”

“Have the goodness to go to sleep, and let me and Mr. Haye take care of each other,” said the girl dryly.