Justin would not lumber up the women’s apartments—as he called the parlor, kitchen and best bedchamber—with any of his cumbersome working materials; but he gathered them all into his own Spartan room, and there he busied himself through the first wet days with grinding, mending and arranging his tools; and then he took a great quantity of palm leaves that he had collected during the dry months and he occupied himself with stripping them up and weaving their fibres into mats of every description—large, thin mats to lay before the doors to wipe shoes upon in muddy weather, and small fine mats to put on the table to set dishes on. As these mats were completed he delivered them over to Judith to be stored or to be used. The girl was especially delighted with the door mats, which she declared would save her a “dale iv scrubbing;” and she was profuse in her expressions of gratitude to Justin, whom she declared to be always saving her life entirely with his thoughtfulness. After having made a quantity of mats of all sorts, Justin commenced the manufacture of baskets. First he made a fine large clothes basket, which became the pride of Judith’s life; and then a dozen or more of fruit and vegetable baskets of all sizes; and, lastly, a workbasket for Britomarte, on which he expended his finest materials, and all the taste, skill and ingenuity he possessed. It was a miracle of convenience, if not of beauty. It was rather large and oval in form; the middle space long enough to contain a good-sized garment folded up; and all around that middle space little divisions like smaller baskets, to hold buttons, hooks and eyes, cord, tape, thread, etc., and to keep them separate and in order; each little division had its little movable top; and the whole basket had its cover and its handle. I have been particular in describing this little affair, because its invention was a work of love, and its usefulness every woman among my readers will appreciate. Britomarte valued it not upon account of its beauty or its usefulness so much as because its every mesh and fibre had been woven by those beloved hands that were dearer to her than all others; yes, deny it to herself as she might, dearer to her than all others upon earth! Judith was in rapture with the basket. “It’s a beauty iv a basket! a darlint iv a basket! a little angel iv a basket! And sure meself wishes I was clever at the nadle, so I could use one, too. But faix if I can manage to put a patch in an ould tablecloth, it’s as much as meself can do,” she said. “Never mind, Judith. You can weave, and that is what neither Miss Conyers nor myself can do. I shall make another attempt at the construction of a loom this winter; and I think between my recollections of my grandmother’s loom and your suggestions, I shall be able to construct one.”