When she had cleared away the dinner-dishes, washed them, and put them in the closet,—an operation which the simplicity of the meal rendered but a short one,—Floy began to look round her, to see what else she could do. A desire seized her to explore the old house, of which so many rooms had for years remained deserted. They were bare and desolate, inhabited only by spiders and crickets, who occupied them rent free. It might have been years, perhaps, since they had echoed to the steps of a human foot. They looked dark and gloomy enough to have been witness to many a dark deed of midnight assassination. But it was all fancy, doubtless; and in little Floy they produced no other feeling than that of chilliness. She rummaged all the closets with a feeling of curiosity, but found nothing in any one of them to reward her search until she came to the last. There was a large roll of something on the floor, which, on examination, proved to be a small carpet, quite dirty, and somewhat moth-eaten. It had probably been left there inadvertently, and remained undiscovered until the present moment. Floy spread it out, and examined it critically. An idea struck her, which she hastened to put into execution. Threading her way back to the miser’s room, she procured a stout stick which stood in the corner, and, going back, gave the carpet a sound drubbing, which nearly stifled her with dust. Nevertheless, she persevered, and soon got it into quite a respectable state of cleanness. She then managed, by a considerable effort, to lug it to Martin’s room, and, in an hour or so, had spread it out, and finally fastened it by means of some tacks which she found in one corner of the closet. The effect was certainly wonderful. The carpet actually gave the room a very cosy and comfortable appearance; and little Floy took considerable credit to herself for the metamorphosis. “What will he say?” thought she. “I wonder whether he will be pleased.” It was but a few minutes after this change had been effected that Martin came in. It was about three o’clock,—sooner than Floy expected him; but he had thought she might require the materials early, in order to make preparations for the evening meal. As he opened the door, he started back in surprise at the changed appearance of the room. It occurred to him, for a moment, that he had strayed into the wrong place; but the sight of Floy, sitting at the window, re-assured him, and he went in. “What is all this?” he inquired in a bewildered tone. Floy enjoyed his surprise. She told him in what manner she had effected the change, and asked him if he did not like it. He could not do otherwise than answer in the affirmative; and, in truth, an unusual sense of comfort came over him as he sat down and looked about him. Floy had taken possession of the flour, and was already kneading it. “Now,” said she, after this was done, “I must put it down by the fire to rise; that will not take long; and then it will be ready to bake.”