I followed my conductor, and entered an apartment on the first floor, which evidently answered the purpose of a dining-room, and was, without exception, as dismal-looking an apartment as I ever entered. The black hair-cloth sofa was ornamented with slits in various places, from which the stuffing was peeping forth, an exploit of which the young Morfields were particularly proud; the chairs were in the same condition, the carpet was torn in various places, and the whole room had a very poverty-stricken appearance. On the mantel-piece were two large glass jars, covering pots of very unnatural-looking artificial flowers, considerably faded; over the sofa hung a picture of a sinking ship, and on one side a representation of Robinson Crusoe landed on the desert island. I felt irresistibly drawn toward that picture—it was dark, gloomy, and discouraging, and it sympathized with my own feelings. My hopes, too, had suffered a complete wreck; I entered upon the expedition with warm, glowing feelings, but the walk, the Irish woman, and the hopeless-looking apartment had blasted them entirely; and I was almost wishing myself with the strawberry party, when the door opened, and Mrs. Morfield entered, with a very bold, staring baby in her arms. She appeared delighted to see me, and welcomed me so cordially, that I quite forgot my recent dissatisfaction. She had one of the most sunny, joyful dispositions I have ever encountered; she would have turned a desert island into sunshine, and laughed at every trouble that came in her way. Her temper must have been a happy one to stand the wear and tear of six noisy boys; but although a delightful and entertaining companion, she would have been still more so had she not always been in a hurry. All she said was uttered so fast that her auditors were in continual fear of her losing her breath; and one carefully avoided lengthy replies with her, she always seemed so pressed for time. “I am very glad,” said she, with a merry laugh, “that you have come, for my own sake—and very sorry for yours, for both cook and nurse left me this morning in a fit of ill-temper; and as I have only Kitty for a helper, I am afraid you will fare but poorly for your tea. However, I shall not make a stranger of you.” I hastened to assure her that it was not of the least consequence to me, for I thought to myself that with strawberries and cherries, a person need not care for any thing else; and having succeeded in setting her mind at ease on that point, she proposed that we should leave our room for some other apartment. “Exactly like Kitty to put you here,” said she, laughing, “but we will try if we cannot find a pleasanter.”