“This kitchen—­” began the new mistress.

“So he put a comether on you!”

“Absolutely—­when I wasn’t looking!”

“Put one on me, too,” said Sharon; “years ago.”

“This kitchen,” began Patricia again, “is an unsanitary outrage.  It needs a thousand things done to it.  We’d never have put up with this in the Army.  That sink there”—­she pointed it out—­“must have something of a carbolic nature straight off.”

“I know, I know!” Sharon was placating.  “I’m going to put everything right for you.”

“New paint for all the woodwork—­white.”

“Sure thing—­as white as you want it.”

“And blue velours curtains for the big room.  I always dreamed I’d have a house with blue velours curtains.”

“Sure, sure!  Anything you want you order.”

“And that fireplace in the big room—­I burned some trash there this morning, and it simply won’t inhale.”

“Never did,” said Sharon.  “We’ll run the chimney up higher.  Anything else?”

“Oh, lots!  I’ve a long list somewhere.”

“I bet you have!  But it’s a good old house; don’t build ’em like this any more; not a nail in it; sound as a nut.  Say, miss, did you know there was high old times in this house about seventy-three years ago?  Fact!  They thought I wasn’t going to pull through.  I was over two days old before it looked like I’d come round.  Say, I learned to walk out in that side yard.  That reminds me—­” Sharon hesitated in mild embarrassment—­“there’s a place between them two wings—­make a bully place for a sun room; spoil the architecture, mebbe, but who cares?  Sun room—­big place to play round in—­play room, or anything like that.”

Patricia had been searching among a stack of newspapers, but she had caught “sun room.”

“Stunning!” she said.  “We need another big place right now, or when my things get here.”

Sharon coughed.

“Need it more later, I guess.”

But Patricia had found her paper.

“Oh, here’s something I put aside to ask you about!  I want you to understand I’m going to be all the help I can here.  This advertisement says ‘Raise Belgian hares,’ because meat is so high.  Do you know—­do people really make millions at it, and could I do the work?”

Sharon was shaking his head.

“You could if you didn’t have something else to do.  And I suppose they sell for money, though I never did hear tell of a Belgian-hare millionaire.  Heard of all other kinds, but not him.  But you look here, young woman, I hope there’ll be other things not sold by the pound that’ll keep you from rabbit raising.  This family’s depending a lot on you.  Didn’t you hear my speech about that fine sun room?”

“Will you please not bother me at a time like this?” scolded Patricia.  “Now out with you—­he’s outside somewhere!  And can’t you ever in the world for five minutes get mere Whipples out of your mind?” She actively waved him on from the open door.