The girl’s face glowed with shamed crimson. She felt haughty and humiliated and angry all at once. It was not to be borne. Mrs. Dix was not listening to Fanny Dodge. “I bid in the big, four-post mahogany bed at the auction,” she said, “and the bureau to match; an’ I believe there are two or three chairs about the house.” “We’ve got a table,” chimed in Mrs. Dodge; “but one leg give away, an’ I had it put up in the attic years ago. And Fanny’s got a bed and bureau in her room that was painted white, with little pink flowers tied up with blue ribbons. Of course the paint is pretty well rubbed off; but—” “Oh, might I have that set?” cried Lydia, turning to Fanny. “Perhaps you’ve grown fond of it and won’t want to give it up. But I—I’d pay almost anything for it. And of course I shall want the mahogany, too.” “Well, we didn’t know,” explained Mrs. Dix, with dignity. “We got those pieces instead of the money we’d ought to have had from the estate. There was a big crowd at the auction, I remember; but nobody really wanted to pay anything for the old furniture. A good deal of it had come out of folks’ attics in the first place.” “I shall be glad to pay three hundred dollars for the mahogany bed and bureau,” said Lydia. “And for the little white set—” “I don’t care to part with my furniture,” said Fanny Dodge, her pretty round chin uplifted. She was taller than Lydia, and appeared to be looking over her head with an intent stare at the freshly papered wall beyond. “For pity sake!” exclaimed her mother sharply. “Why, Fanny, you could buy a brand new set, an’ goodness knows what-all with the money. What’s the matter with you?” “I know just how Fanny feels about having her room changed,” put in Ellen Dix, with a spirited glance at the common enemy. “There are things that money can’t buy, but some people don’t seem to think so.” Lydia’s blue eyes had clouded swiftly. “If you’ll come into the library,” she said, “we’ll have some lemonade. It’s so very warm I’m sure we are all thirsty.” She did not speak of the furniture again, and after a little the visitors rose to go. Mrs. Dodge lingered behind the others to whisper: “I’m sure I don’t know what got into my Fanny. Only the other day she was wishing she might have her room done over, with new furniture and all. I’ll try and coax her.” But Lydia shook her head. “Please don’t,” she said. “I want that furniture very much; but—I know there are things money can’t buy.” “Mebbe you wouldn’t want it, if you was t’ see it,” was Mrs. Dodge’s honest opinion. “It’s all turned yellow, an’ the pink flowers are mostly rubbed off. I remember it was real pretty when we first got it. It used to belong to Mrs. Bolton’s little girl. I don’t know as anybody’s told you, but they had a little girl. My! what an awful thing for a child to grow up to! I’ve often thought of it. But mebbe she didn’t live to grow up. None of us ever heard.”