“Well, dear, we’ll have to forget it now, anyway, and get to work. We must fix Carey’s room so he can sleep there tonight if he does come back, and we must have supper ready when father gets home.” The child brightened. “Won’t they be surprised?” she said with a happy light in her eyes. “What do you want me to do? Shall I peel the potatoes?” “Yes, do, and have plenty. We’ll mash them, shall we? I found the potato-masher in the bottom of a barrel in the parlor; so I don’t believe you’ve been using it lately.” “That’s right. We had all we could do to bake them or boil them whole,” said Louise. “You bake the bread, and I’ll get the potatoes on. Then we’ll have plenty of time to put those things away upstairs and make Carey’s bed.” “Are there any clean sheets? I didn’t know where to look.” “No, there’s only one pair, and I kept them for you next week.” “We can’t keep anything for me, duckie dear,” said Cornelia, laughing. “Carey’s got to have clean sheets this very night. I have a hunch he’s coming home, and I want that room to be ready. That’s the first step in getting him back to us, you know.” “Oh, well, all right,” said the little sister. “They are in the lower drawer of our bureau. How good that bread smells! My, it was nice of you to make it! And how dear the dining-table looks with that little flower in the middle. Some girls’ sisters would have thought that was unnecessary. They would have made us wait for pretty things. But you didn’t, did you? I guess that’s what makes you an interior decorator, isn’t it? Father and mother are awfully proud of you. They talked about it most every night before Carey got to going away, how you would be a great artist some day, and all that; and my! it most killed them to have to call you home.” Louise chattered on, revealing many a household tragedy, until Cornelia was cut to the heart and wanted to drop down and cry; only she had too much at stake to give up now. They went upstairs presently with the clean sheets, and the blankets that had almost miraculously got themselves dry owing to a bright sun and a strong west wind that had arrived soon after they were put out; and they had a beautiful time making that bed. Carey wouldn’t know himself in such a bed. Then they hunted out a bureau-scarf, and they went through the tousled drawers of the chiffonier and bureau, and put things to rights, laying out a pile of things that needed mending or washing, and making the room look cheery and bright. “It ought to have something pretty like a flower here, too,” sighed Louise, taking a final glance around as Cornelia folded the old eider-down quilt in a self-respecting puff at the foot of the bed, and gave another pat to the clean white pillow. “I know!” said Louise suddenly flitting downstairs to her own room and hurrying back again with a small oval easel picture of her mother, dusting it carefully with her handkerchief as she came. “There! Won’t that look better?”