“Why, hasn’t Sam got furniture?  The Crittenden house had the loveliest in Hayesboro,” asked Edith, plaintively.

“He’s sold it; Sam is poor,” I answered, proudly.  “He hasn’t got anything but Mammy and Byrd and the other stock, and places for all to sleep and eat and keep warm.  Now what are we going to do?”

“He wouldn’t let us buy him anything, would he?” asked Sue, thoughtfully.

“I know Sam better than that,” said Edith.

“I’ll tell you,” I exclaimed, suddenly and radiantly.  “Of course, we can’t give Sam anything, but I believe—­I believe that if I asked him very kindly he would let us make a kind of museum of affection of Peter’s room and take all the lovely things we can borrow from people to put in the shack to help inspire him.  Mother will let me start with Grandmother Nelson’s desk, though it is dearer than life to me; and I know she’ll crochet him a lamp-mat before he gets here—­maybe several, if she likes the pattern she starts on.”

“Do you remember that mahogany table in my room?” exclaimed Julia, several minutes lost in deep reflection.  “It is real Chippendale, Aunt Amanda says, and I’ll send that out.  Oh, to think of a poet laying his pen down on it!  Or does he use a pencil?”

And it is true that from very small beginnings great trees grow.  In this case it was Peter’s roof-tree, or rather what was under it.  I never saw anything like Hayesboro when it takes generosity in its teeth and runs away, as at the time when Mr. Stanton, the Methodist minister, had thirty-five pounds of sausage sent him from different hog-killings just because in prayer-meeting, when he publicly thanked the Lord for his seventh child, he mentioned that it was welcome, though one more mouth to feed.  Of course, the baby didn’t need the sausage any more than Peter really needed all the things everybody wanted to send out to make the cabin comfortable for him.  Fortunately, Sam kept his head, as the minister did when he sold the sausage and bought groceries for the whole family; he selected only five pieces out of the list of sixty that we gave him, and it took me a day and a half to go around and keep people from getting hurt because he didn’t call in his wagon for the things they had got out and rubbed and dusted.  And before the sun set on the second day of my explanations I had talked Peter into the very heart of Hayesboro, which was all down to the station to meet him and welcome him.  The mayor wanted to have the brass band, but I persuaded him not to do that, but to make Peter a little speech.  Miss Henrietta Spain asked to have her school children march down to throw jonquils in his path, and I had to give in to that.  Besides, I thought Peter would like it; so did Sam.