“I know,” she said. “Sometimes I’ve wondered if—if mebbe folks don’t leave something or other after them—something you can’t see nor touch; but you can sense it, just as plain, in your mind. But land! I don’t know as I’d ought to mention it; of course you know I don’t mean ghosts and like that.” “You mean their—their thoughts, perhaps,” hesitated Lydia. “I can’t put it into words; but I know what you mean.” Mrs. Daggett patted the girl’s hand kindly. “I’ve come to talk to you about the wall papers, dearie; Henry thought mebbe you’d like to see me, seeing I don’t forget so easy’s some. This room was done in a real pretty striped paper in two shades of buff. There’s a little of it left behind that door. Mrs. Bolton was a great hand to want things cheerful. She said it looked kind of sunshiny, even on a dark day. Poor dear, it fell harder on her than on anybody else when the crash came. She died the same week they took him to prison; and fer one, I was glad of it.” Mrs. Daggett wiped her kind eyes. “Mebbe you’ll think it’s a terrible thing for me to say,” she added hastily. “But she was such a delicate, soft-hearted sort of a woman: I couldn’t help feelin’ th’ Lord spared her a deal of bitter sorrow by taking her away. My! It does bring it all back to me so—the house and the yard, and all. We’d all got used to seeing it a ruin; and now— Whatever put it in your head, dearie, to want things put back just as they were? Papa was telling me this morning you was all for restoring the place. He thinks ’twould be more stylish and up-to-date if you was to put new-style paper on the walls, and let him furnish it up for you with nice golden oak. Henry’s got real good taste. You’d ought to see our sideboard he gave me Chris’mas, with a mirror and all.” Having thus discharged her wifely duty, as it appeared to her, Mrs. Daggett promptly turned her back upon it. “But you don’t want any golden oak sideboards and like that in this house. Henry was telling me all about it, and how you were set on getting back the old Bolton furniture.” “Do you think I could?” asked the girl eagerly. “It was all sold about here, wasn’t it? And don’t you think if I was willing to pay a great deal for it people would—” “’Course they would!” cried Mrs. Daggett, with cheerful assurance. “They’d be tickled half to death to get money for it. But, you see, dearie, it’s a long time ago, and some folks have moved away, and there’s been two or three fires, and I suppose some are not as careful as others; still—” The smile faded on the girl’s lips. “But I can get some of it back; don’t you think I can? I—I’ve quite set my heart on—restoring the house. I want it just as it used to be. The old furniture would suit the house so much better; don’t you think it would?” Mrs. Daggett clapped her plump hands excitedly.