The painters and paper-hangers were hardly through when a load of furniture came out from Washington. Mr. De Jarnette being in doubt as to the exact amount of hilarity that the good of a child demanded, had gone to a decorator and put the matter in his hands; then to a furniture store, telling the proprietor that he wanted suitable furniture and drapery for a child's room which must be light and cheerful. The bedroom suit already in it was solid mahogany and almost priceless as an antique, but Mr. De Jarnette gave him _carte blanche_, and the dealer naturally made the most of his opportunity. There was a scurrying around at Elmhurst that last day as there had not been since the advent of the second Mrs. De Jarnette. Mammy Cely was bent upon having all in readiness by the time Philip's mother came. Mr. De Jarnette apparently did not know that Philip had a mother. He had never asked any questions about her comings or her goings. What he was doing was for Philip. When Margaret came Mammy Cely took her with great pride to the room. In view of her disapproval before there was every reason to expect approval now. And then the room itself commanded it. On the walls morning-glories climbed over a neutral ground, clustering thick over a trellis at the top where an occasional butterfly and humming bird poised as if just ready to fly. The dark stained woodwork had given place to an ivory white. A pretty matting was on the floor and over this a cheery rug in such colors as a child might like, while the four great windows were hung with simple muslin curtains draped high to let in the autumn light. Margaret stood just inside the room and surveyed it all--the little white bed, the diminutive dresser and chiffonier of bird's eye maple where last week had been the heavy mahogany--even a set of shelves which held Philip's rapidly accumulating treasures. "And see, mama, my little wocking chair that Unker Wichard bwinged me," said Philip. She turned away with mouth so stern that Mammy Cely asked anxiously, "Didn't they fix it right, Miss Margaret?" Somehow the room had not been the success she had hoped. The human heart is full of strange contradictions. As she looked at all these things--just what she herself would have chosen for a child's room--there came to Margaret a fierce anger that he, her enemy, should have done it. He was trying to worm himself into the child's affections,--trying to buy his love. She had gone home the week before telling of that gloomy room and hugging to her soul this grievance. Robbed of it, she felt defrauded. A sudden thought struck her. "Did you tell Mr. De Jarnette what I said?" "No, _ma'am_," declared Mammy Cely, not doubting that what she said was Gospel truth. "I ain't tole him nothin' 'tall 'bout what you said. I jes' mentioned to him that the room was sorter mournful, an' that was enough. Miss Margaret, honey, it look to me lak Marse Richard's tryin' to do what's right by this chile--"