The very next day father came in, saying there was a house to let in Pleasant Row, only three doors off from the Raikes'. I wondered if mother had seen it before. She and father went to look it over, and when they came back they could talk of nothing else. The rent was forty pounds, and that seemed a deal; but mother said—"What was forty pounds out of five hundred?" It was only a small house, but the rents in the town had been getting very high of late. The house had to be taken at once, if at all, for somebody else was asking after it. Grannie begged father to wait and do nothing till the money should come. But he said it would be a thousand pities to miss the chance, for they might not find another so nice, and he could easily get the money lent him for the first quarter's rent. "We needn't move in yet, you know," he said. So it was all settled, and the next thing spoken about was that the cottage must be sold. I think that did go to grannie's heart. But she never made a word of complaint—only sometimes I saw her looking at one thing and another, as if she were saying such a sorrowful good-bye. Poor grannie! I wondered often at her patience. CHAPTER IX. NOTHING TO DO. TROWGOOD was willing to trust to any amount for the furniture; so the making ready of the new house began at once. Mother said she did not see any good in waiting, for the bills could be paid as soon as ever the money came, and father was of the same mind. There was a great deal to be done to the house. Father took it in such a hurry, that he did not have a proper agreement made; and when he found afterwards what a number of repairs were wanted, he had to do it all himself, for the landlord was a churlish sort of body, and said "No" to pretty nearly everything asked. Mother was vexed because father had not thought of these matters sooner; but father said, what did it signify? He seemed to think five thousand pounds could do everything. He and mother were agreed on one head, and that was that the house must make a smart appearance. The top rooms were damp, and the kitchen had water oozing out all over the walls, and there was a queer sort of smell in the parlour, which grannie said ought to be attended to. She said our cottage had always been so sweet and dry, and that was partly how we had all kept such good health. She told father he had a deal better have the dampness and the smell cured, and spend less on carpets and gimcracks. But mother said—"Who cared for a little wet?" and father said,—"All in good time, grannie." And he seemed to think the "good time" should come late, not early.