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 "Their little nest," thought Carrie, joggling gently on the back seat of Charlotte's closed car. Curtain rings, samples of chintz, double boiler, picture wire, garbage pail—she hadn't forgotten anything. How comfortable the cushions were; how easily the car took the steep hill. She flapped a gracious hand at a stolid child. Perhaps not quite respectful of Charlie to wear his cap so far on the back of his head? Would he, if Charlotte or Hoagland were in the car? But the small cloud passed. The day was so lovely; she felt so helpful and important. Oh! Oh! The blue flags along the stream were out! That winding strip of blue through the wet green—heaven couldn't be more beautiful. "Our Father which art in heaven—" she began, squeezing her eyes tight in ecstasy, then opening them. Mustn't be sacrilegious, praying out-of-doors in an automobile, not even kneeling down.

That cap! But probably Charlie just didn't know any better. She thanked him very pleasantly as she got out of the car and went into the haunted house, bowing with gracious dignity to the workmen sunning themselves after lunch. So many legs, stretched out all over the place—but workmen seemed so refined nowadays, with their automobiles and their thermos bottles. That young one with curly hair might easily be a college graduate doing it for the psychological experience—or did she mean physiological?

Charlie gave them a wink as he followed her with