While lamenting over this, we discovered a broken spring ready to make its way through the hair cloth covering.
"So much for cheap furniture," said I, in a tone of involuntary triumph.
My husband looked at me half reproachfully, and so I said no more.
It was now needful to send for a cabinet maker, and submit our sofa and chairs to his handy workmanship.

He quickly discovered other imperfections, and gave us the consoling information that our fine furniture was little above fourth-rate in quality, and dear at any price.

A ten dollar bill was required to pay the damage they had already sustained, even under our careful hands.
A more striking evidence of our folly in buying cheap furniture was, however, yet to come.

An intimate friend came in one evening to sit a few hours with us.

After conversing for a time, both he and my husband took up books, and commenced reading, while I availed myself of the opportunity to write a brief letter.