Barbara darted down stairs, and what she may have said to Aunt Christie while Swan received some final instructions above, is of less consequence than what Miss Crampton may have felt when she found herself at the top of the stairs in the long room, with its brown high-pitched roof--a room full of the strangest furniture, warm with the sun of August, and sweet with the scent of the creepers.
Gladys and Johnnie were busy at the electrifying machine, and with a rustling and crackling noise the "spunky little flashes," as Swan called them, kept leaping from one leaden knob to another.
Miss Crampton saw a youth sitting on a low chair, with his legs on rather a higher one; the floor under him was strewed with shavings, which looked, Swan thought, "as natural as life," meaning that they looked just as if he had made them by his own proper whittling.
The youth in question was using a large pruning knife on a log that he held rather awkwardly on his knee.

He had a soft hat, which had been disposed over one eye.

Miss Crampton gave the sparks as wide a berth as she could, and as she advanced, "Well, sir," Swan was saying in obedience to his instructions, "if you've been brought up a republican, I spose you can't help it.

But whatever _your_ notions may be, Old Master is staunch.

He's all for Church and Queen and he hates republican institootions like poison.