"There! That's the table Miss Murray used to do her writing at. She said there never had been a table built big enough for her. I expect that's why nobody bought it at the auction. 'Twas too big for mortal use, you might say. The same reason I expect is why the dining-room table didn't sell either." "Where did she write?" Lindsay asked, measuring the table with his eye. "All summer in the south living-room. But when it come winter, she'd often take her things and set right in front of the fire in the living-room. Then she'd write at that long table you're writing on." "This table goes back to the south living-room tomorrow," Lindsay decided almost inaudibly. "Can you tell me the exact spot?" "I guess I _can_. Lord knows I've got down on my hands and knees and dusted the legs often enough. Miss Murray said, though it was soft wood, it was the oldest piece in the house. She bought it at some old tavern where they was having a sale. She said it dated back--long before Revolutionary times--to Colonial days." "Could you tell me, I wonder, about the rest of Miss Murray's furniture?" Lindsay came suddenly from out a deep revery. "Do you remember who bought it? I would like to buy back all that I can get. I'd like to make the old place look, as much as possible, as it used to look." Mrs. Spash flashed him a quick intent look. Then she meditated. "I think I could probably tell you where most every piece went. The Drakes got the Field bed and the ivory-keyhole bureau and the ivory-keyhole desk; and Miss Garnet got the elephant and Mis' Manson got the gazelles--" "Elephant! Gazelles!" Lindsay interrupted. "The gazelles," Mrs. Spash smiled indulgently. "Well, it does sound queer, but Miss Murray used to call those little thin-legged candle tables that folks use, _gazelles_. The elephant was a great high chest of drawers. Mis' Manson got the maple gazelles--" She proceeded in what promised to be an indefinite category. "Do you think I could buy any of those things back?" Lindsay asked after listening patiently to the end. "Some of them, I guess. I have a few things in my attic I'll sell you--and some I'll give you. I'd admire to see them in the old place once more." "You must let me buy them all," Lindsay protested. "Well, we'll see about that," Mrs. Spash disposed of this disagreement easily. "Have you seen the Dew Pond yet?" "The Dew Pond!" Lindsay echoed. "The little pond beyond the barn," Mrs. Spash explained. Then, as though a great light dawned, "Oh, of course it's all so growed up round it you'd never notice it. Come and I'll show it to you." Lindsay followed her out of the barn. This was all like a dream, he reflected--but then everything was like a dream nowadays. He had lived in a dream for two months now. Mrs. Spash struck into a path which led beyond the barn.