"Louise Hazeltine, how could you envy anybody?" Dora exclaimed. "There
are two things I ought to have, and mean to sometime," she went on,
"and they are some plants and a canary."
Louise looked out of the window to hide a smile.
One more peep had to be taken at the other room, where two snowy beds
looked restful and inviting; then she locked the doors, leaving the
key with Mrs. Smith that the fires might be made in the morning.
"I hope you will like it, Mamma," were her last words that night and
her first thought next morning.
Mr. Hazeltine sent his carriage for Mrs. Warner, and short as the
drive was it seemed tiresomely long to Dora.
"I am glad it is pleasant so that the sunshine will be in your
windows; it is always there by eleven o'clock," she said.
Mrs. Smith was at the door to welcome them, with her small son Tommy
to carry up any bundles.
"I declare," she remarked to her husband, "it doesn't look right for a
woman that has a daughter like Miss Dora to be so terrible
down-hearted."
In her eagerness to see how her mother was pleased, Dora hardly
noticed anything herself when she opened the door.
A more hopelessly gloomy person than Mrs. Warner could not have failed
to be impressed with the sweet, cheerful comfort which pervaded the
room.
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