Part 3 (2/2)
”I'll consider anything you like,” said Patty; ”and before breakfast, too, if you'll only hurry up and get out of this damp, musty old place.
I'm s.h.i.+vering myself to pieces.”
”Oh, it isn't cold,” said Laura Russell; ”and while we're here, let's go through the house.”
”Yes,” said Marian; ”examine it carefully, lest some of its numerous advantages should escape your notice. Observe the hardwood floors, the magnificent mahogany stair-rail, and the lofty ceilings!”
The old floors were creaky, worm-eaten, and dusty; the stair-rail was in a most dilapidated condition, and the ceilings were low and smoky; so Marian scored her points.
”But it is antique,” said Ethel Holmes, with the air of an auctioneer.
”Ah, ladies, what would you have? It is a fine specimen of the Colonial Empire period, picked out here and there with Queen Anne. The mantels, ah,--the mantels are dreams in marble.”
”Nightmares in painted wood, you mean,” said Lillian.
”But so roomy and expansive,” went on Ethel. ”And the wall-papers!
Note the fine stage of complete dilapidation left by the moving finger of Time.”
”The wall-papers are all right,” said Patty. ”They look as if they'd peel off easily. Come on upstairs.”
The chambers were large, low, and rambling; and the house, in its best days, must have been an interesting specimen of its type. But after a short investigation, Patty was as firmly convinced as Marian that its charms could not offset its drawbacks.
”I've seen enough of this moated grange,” cried Patty. ”Come on, girls, we're going back to tea, right, straight, smack off.”
”There's no pleasing some folks,” grumbled Ethel. ”Here's an ancestral pile only waiting for somebody to ancestralise it. You could make it one of the Historic Homes of Vernondale, and you won't even consider it for a minute.”
”I'll consider it for a minute,” said Patty, ”if that will do you any good, but not a bit longer; and as the minute is nearly up, I move we start.”
CHAPTER IV
BOXLEY HALL
After consultation with various real estate agents, and after due consideration of the desirable houses they had to offer, Mr. Fairfield came to the conclusion that the Bigelow house, which Marian had suggested, was perhaps the most attractive of any.
And so, one afternoon, a party of very interested people went over to look at it.
The procession was headed by Patty and Marian, followed by Mr. Fairfield and Aunt Alice, while Frank and his father brought up the rear. But as they were going out of the Elliotts' front gate, Laura Russell came flying across the street.
”Where are all you people going?” she cried. ”I know you're going to look at a house. Which one?”
”The Bigelow house,” said Marian, ”and I'm almost sure Uncle Fred will decide to take it. Come on with us; we're going all through it.”
”No,” said Laura, looking disappointed, ”I don't want to go; and I don't want the Fairfields to live in that house anyway. If they would only look at that little cottage next-door to us, I know they'd like it ever so much better. Oh, please, Mr. Fairfield, won't you come over and look at it now? It's so pretty and cunning, and it has the loveliest garden and chicken-coop and everything.”
”I don't want a chicken-coop,” said Patty, laughing; ”I've no chickens, and I don't want any.”
”Our chickens are over there most of the time,” said Laura.
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