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 the iron skillets and kettles that hung by their bails from the long crane swung over the fire; Mehitable, dragging the table nearer the warmth of it, began supper preparations by spreading the red tablecloth, while Charity ran back and forth upon countless errands. Once, fetching her father's bootjack from upstairs, she came back almost weeping from the cold, her small nose like a red berry. Dropping the bootjack, she rubbed her aching hands.

"Cold, Cherry lass?" mumbled the Squire sympathetically, purple-faced as he struggled with his boot.

"Oh, Father, I do dread the thought o' bed! 'Tis bitter cold upstairs. Do you suppose there ever will be a time when people have a fireplace in every room."

Mehitable laughed loudly.

"But will there?" persisted Charity, glancing at her sister. "There be nothing funny in that, Hitty," she added with dignity.

"A fireplace in every room, indeed! Ho!"

And Mehitable redoubled her laughter. "Why, think o' the chimneys needed!"

"But in city houses there be a fireplace very often in every room," remarked Squire Condit, leaning back with a grunt of relief and sticking his stockinged feet toward the blaze.

Both girls turned to him eagerly, and Charity ran to clasp his arm, her cheeks crimsoning.

"Truly, Father." She paused for an awed moment. "Warm in every room!" she exclaimed; then, "Think o't, Hitty!"