Only it ain't used to it, any more'n I am." "Dabney!" It was his mother's voice, and Dab felt like "minding" very promptly that morning.
"Dabney, my boy, come here to the gate." "Ham Morris is having his house painted," he remarked, as he walked towards his mother.
"Is he ?" she said.

"We'll go and see about it." The gate between the two "side-yards" had been there from time immemorial, and-they walked right through.

As they drew nearer the Morris house, however, Dabney discovered that carpenters as well as painters were plying their trade in and about the old homestead.

There were window-sashes piled here, and blinds there; a new door or so, ready for use, a great stack of bundles of shingles, some barrels of lime, and a heap of sand.

Whichever way Dab looked, there were visible signs of an approaching renovation.
"Going to fix it all over," he remarked.
"Yes," replied his mother: "it'll be as good as new.