[Peter by F. Hopkinson Smith]@TWC D-Link book
Peter

CHAPTER XIII
3/17

Mere question of imagination, perhaps, but old fellows like you and me should take no chances--" and he laughed heartily.
"This room was my father's," continued Peter.

"The bookcases have still some of the volumes he loved; he liked the low ceiling and the big fireplace, and always wrote here--it was his library, really.

There opens the old drawing-room and next to it is Felicia's den, where she concocts most of her deviltry, and the dining-room beyond--and that's all there is on this floor, except the kitchen, which you'll hear from later." And as Peter rattled on, telling me the history of this and that piece of old furniture, or portrait, or queer clock, my eyes were absorbing the air of cosey comfort that permeated every corner of the several rooms.

Everything had the air of being used.

In the library the chairs were of leather, stretched into saggy folds by many tired backs; the wide, high fender fronting the hearth, though polished so that you could see your face in it, showed the marks of many a drying shoe, while on the bricks framing the fireplace could still be seen the scratchings of countless matches.
The drawing-room, too--although, as in all houses of its class and period, a thing of gilt frames, high mirrors and stiff furniture--was softened by heaps of cushions, low stools and soothing arm-chairs, while Miss Felicia's own particular room was so veritable a symphony in chintz, white paint and old mahogany, with cubby-holes crammed with knickknacks, its walls hung with rare etchings; pots of flowers everywhere and the shelves and mantels crowded with photographs of princes, ambassadors, grand dukes, grand ladies, flossy-headed children, chubby-cheeked babies (all souvenirs of her varied and busy life), that it was some minutes before I could throw myself into one of her heavenly arm-chairs, there to be rested as I had never been before, and never expect to be again.
It being Peter's winter holiday, he and Morris had stopped over on their way down from Buffalo, where Holker had spoken at a public dinner.


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