I call it downright deceit!" "I believe I know the reason she'll SAY," said Advena.

"She objects to rag carpet in her bedroom.

She told me so." "Rag carpet--upon my word!" Mrs Murchison dropped her knife to exclaim.
"It's what her betters have to do with! I've known the day when that very piece of rag carpet--sixty balls there were in it and every one I sewed with my own fingers--was the best I had for my spare room, with a bit of ingrain in the middle.

Dear me!" she went on with a smile that lightened the whole situation, "how proud I was of that performance! She didn't tell ME she objected to rag carpet!" "No, Mother," Advena agreed, "she knew better." They were all there in the kitchen, supporting their mother, and it seems an opportunity to name them.

Advena, the eldest, stood by the long kitchen table washing the breakfast cups in "soft" soap and hot water.
The soft soap--Mrs Murchison had a barrelful boiled every spring in the back yard, an old colonial economy she hated to resign--made a fascinating brown lather with iridescent bubbles.