Probably the blinds had not been thrown back since Gran'ther Scraper died.
The parlour was scarcely less grim than the kitchen, though there was a difference in its grimness.

Seven chairs stood against the wall, like seven policemen with their hands behind their backs; a table crouched in the middle, its legs bent as if to spring.

The boy John considered the table a monster, transformed by magic into its present shape, and likely to be released at any moment, and to leap at the unwary intruder.

Its faded cover, with two ancient ink-blots which answered for eyes, fostered this idea, which was a disquieting one.

On the wall hung two silver coffin-plates in a glass case, testifying that Freeborn Scraper, and Elmira his wife, had been duly buried, and that their coffins had presented a good appearance at the funeral.