Having thus discharged her wifely duty, as it appeared to her, Mrs. Daggett promptly turned her back upon it.

“But you don’t want any golden oak sideboards and like that in this house.  Henry was telling me all about it, and how you were set on getting back the old Bolton furniture.”

“Do you think I could?” asked the girl eagerly.  “It was all sold about here, wasn’t it?  And don’t you think if I was willing to pay a great deal for it people would—­”

“’Course they would!” cried Mrs. Daggett, with cheerful assurance.  “They’d be tickled half to death to get money for it.  But, you see, dearie, it’s a long time ago, and some folks have moved away, and there’s been two or three fires, and I suppose some are not as careful as others; still—­”

The smile faded on the girl’s lips.

“But I can get some of it back; don’t you think I can?  I—­I’ve quite set my heart on—­restoring the house.  I want it just as it used to be.  The old furniture would suit the house so much better; don’t you think it would?”

Mrs. Daggett clapped her plump hands excitedly.

“I’ve just thought of a way!” she exclaimed.  “And I’ll bet it’ll work, too.  You know Henry he keeps th’ post office; an’ ’most everybody for miles around comes after their mail to th’ store.  I’ll tell him to put up a sign, right where everybody will see; something like this:  ’Miss Lydia Orr wants to buy the old furniture of the Bolton house.’  And you might mention casual you’d pay good prices for it.  ’Twas real good, solid furniture, I remember....  Come to think of it, Mrs. Bolton collected quite a lot of it right ’round here.  She was a city girl when she married Andrew Bolton, an’ she took a great interest in queer old things.  She bought a big tall clock out of somebody’s attic, and four-posted beds, the kind folks used to sleep in, an’ outlandish old cracked china plates with scenes on ’em.  I recollect I gave her a blue and white teapot, with an eagle on the side that belonged to my grandmother.  She thought it was perfectly elegant, and kept it full of rose-leaves and spice on the parlor mantelpiece.  Land!  I hadn’t thought of that teapot for years and years.  I don’t know whatever became of it.”

The sound of planes and hammers filled the silence that followed.  Lydia was standing by the tall carved chair, her eyes downcast.

“I’m glad you thought of—­that notice,” she said at last.  “If Mr. Daggett will see to it for me—­I’ll stop at the office tomorrow.  And now, if you have time, I’d so like you to go over the house with me.  You can tell me about the wall papers and—­”

Mrs. Daggett arose with cheerful alacrity.