In the window Dian hung simple, unbleached muslin curtains with crocheted edge, which she had spent many days in bleaching. But they still retained enough of the original creamy tint to soften the plastered walls of shining white. Under one window Dian set a small pine table, painted red in imitation of mahogany, which held her three only books, one her Bible, a beloved Book of Mormon, and a prized copy of Shakespeare, which had in some way come into her possession. Under the other window was a square box, which John had fitted with hinges and a good lid, and Dian had stuffed the lid top with wool and then covered it with a pretty piece of cotton print and had hung a valence of the print around under the lid. This made a comfortable seat, and that was necessary, as chairs were rare and expensive. Inside the box-seat she had folded her modest store of linen. Over the huge fireplace John had put a low, broad mantle, and Dian set upon the shelf her precious clock, which was one of the few things owned by her mother that she now possessed. On each side of the clock were two brass candlesticks polished like gold, and filled with tall, yellow tallow candles. Most precious of all prized treasures, John had bought the small melodeon from Bishop Winthrop, who was now in possession of a new organ for his music-loving family. John loved the dear old melodeon, out of whose slender case his beloved young wife would weave great color waves of sound and harmony; while to him alone she would now sing "Kathleen, mavourneen, the day dawn is breaking!" Ah, how he loved music and beauty and love! No one but God knew how he loved them! A few chairs, the old-fashioned bed in the corner, a box which they called a trunk, and which had also an edged cover of white to hide its plain look, and the modest room was furnished. John had filled in the fire-place with spicy evergreens from the canyons, and he had searched the hills for the last columbines, which stood on the mantle shelf, their creamy whiteness falling into the bright color tone of the pretty room. As John stood within its sacred precincts the night before he was to be married, he thought how the glorious presence of his beautiful wife would make it a haven of rest and happiness. He walked into the neat kitchen, and noted how carefully Dian had arranged their scanty, pioneer store of dishes, three plates, three cups and saucers, three bowls and a vegetable dish--all these had been placed up in brave show against the board he had nailed at the back of the shelves. The small cook-stove, called a "step stove," he was especially proud of, for it was a great luxury in those days. It shone with a brilliant lustre, and the few pots and pans belonging to it were hung upon the wall behind the stove with housewifely precision. He bent his face over the flowers in the kitchen windows, and whispered to himself that the delicate pinks were like Dian's cheeks, and their perfume was her breath.