among the rocks, waded, caught crabs and little fish, like all boys whose hereditary associations are amphibious.  But Veronica never came to the windows on that side of the house, unless a ship was arriving from a long voyage.  Then her interest was in the ship alone, to see whether her colors were half-mast, or if she were battered and torn, recalling to mind those who had died or married since the ship sailed from port; for she knew the names of all who ever left Surrey, and their family relations.

Weeks passed before I had completed the furnishing of my room; I had been to Helen’s wedding, and had returned, and it was still in progress.  The ground was covered with snow.  The sea was dark and rough under the frequent north wind, sometimes gray and silent in an icy atmosphere; sometimes blue and shining beneath the pale winter sun.  The day when the room was ready, Fanny made a wood fire, which burned merrily, and encouraged the new chairs, tables, carpet, and curtains into a friendly assimilation; they met and danced on the round tops of the brass dogs.  It already seemed to me that I was like the room.  Unlike Veronica, I had nothing odd, nothing suggestive.  My curtains were blue chintz, and the sofa and chairs were covered with the same; the ascetic aspect of my two hair-cloth arm-chairs was entirely concealed.  The walls were painted amber color, and varnished.  There were no pictures but the shining shadows.  A row of shelves covered with blue damask was on one side, and my tall mirror on the other.  The doors were likewise covered with blue damask, nailed round with brass nails.  When I had nothing else to do I counted the nails.  The wooden mantel shelf, originally painted in imitation of black marble, I covered with damask, and fringed it.  I sent Fanny down for mother and Aunt Merce.  They declared, at once, they were stifled; too many things in the room; too warm; too dark; the fringe on the mantel would catch fire and burn me up; too much trouble to take care of it.  What was under the carpet that made it so soft and the steps so noiseless?  How nice it was!  Temperance, who had been my aid, arrived at this juncture and croaked.

“Did you ever see such a stived-up hole, Mis Morgeson?”

“I like it now,” she answered, “it is so comfortable.  How lovely this blue is!”

“It’s a pity she wont keep the blinds shut.  The curtains will fade to rags in no time; the sun pours on ’em.”

“How could I watch the sea then?” I asked.

“Good Lord! it’s a mystery to me how you can bother over that salt water.”

“And the smell of the sea-weed,” added Aunt Merce.

“And its thousand dreary cries,” said mother.

“Do you like my covered doors?” I inquired.

“I vow,” Temperance exclaimed, “the nails are put in crooked!  And I stood over Dexter the whole time.  He said it was damned nonsense, and that you must be awfully spoiled to want such a thing.  ’You get your pay, Dexter,’ says I, ‘for what you do, don’t you?’ ‘I guess I do,’ says he, and then he winked.  ‘None of your gab,’ says I. I do believe that man is a cheat and a rascal, I vow I do.  But they are all so.”