She reached her room before she became savage.  Below, dreadfully near, she could hear the broom-swish of Aunt Bessie’s voice, and the mop-pounding of Uncle Whittier’s grumble.  She had a reasonless dread that they would intrude on her, then a fear that she would yield to Gopher Prairie’s conception of duty toward an Aunt Bessie and go down-stairs to be “nice.”  She felt the demand for standardized behavior coming in waves from all the citizens who sat in their sitting-rooms watching her with respectable eyes, waiting, demanding, unyielding.  She snarled, “Oh, all right, I’ll go!” She powdered her nose, straightened her collar, and coldly marched down-stairs.  The three elders ignored her.  They had advanced from the new house to agreeable general fussing.  Aunt Bessie was saying, in a tone like the munching of dry toast: 

“I do think Mr. Stowbody ought to have had the rain-pipe fixed at our store right away.  I went to see him on Tuesday morning before ten, no, it was couple minutes after ten, but anyway, it was long before noon—­I know because I went right from the bank to the meat market to get some steak—­my!  I think it’s outrageous, the prices Oleson & McGuire charge for their meat, and it isn’t as if they gave you a good cut either but just any old thing, and I had time to get it, and I stopped in at Mrs. Bogart’s to ask about her rheumatism——­”

Carol was watching Uncle Whittier.  She knew from his taut expression that he was not listening to Aunt Bessie but herding his own thoughts, and that he would interrupt her bluntly.  He did: 

“Will, where c’n I get an extra pair of pants for this coat and vest?  D’ want to pay too much.”

“Well, guess Nat Hicks could make you up a pair.  But if I were you, I’d drop into Ike Rifkin’s—­his prices are lower than the Bon Ton’s.”

“Humph.  Got the new stove in your office yet?”

“No, been looking at some at Sam Clark’s but——­”

“Well, y’ ought get ’t in.  Don’t do to put off getting a stove all summer, and then have it come cold on you in the fall.”

Carol smiled upon them ingratiatingly.  “Do you dears mind if I slip up to bed?  I’m rather tired—­cleaned the upstairs today.”

She retreated.  She was certain that they were discussing her, and foully forgiving her.  She lay awake till she heard the distant creak of a bed which indicated that Kennicott had retired.  Then she felt safe.

It was Kennicott who brought up the matter of the Smails at breakfast.  With no visible connection he said, “Uncle Whit is kind of clumsy, but just the same, he’s a pretty wise old coot.  He’s certainly making good with the store.”

Carol smiled, and Kennicott was pleased that she had come to her senses.  “As Whit says, after all the first thing is to have the inside of a house right, and darn the people on the outside looking in!”

It seemed settled that the house was to be a sound example of the Sam Clark school.