“Will you come up-stairs and take off your things?” asked Molly, thankful that in consequence of her wanting to show Marta how to make custard and use French icing, the sweeping was not begun and the whole place topsy-turvy and draped in sweeping-sheets. “Well, I don’t know about staying; we just thought we would run out and see what sort of a place you had here, and take the next train back.” “Oh, you would not do that?” cried Molly, all her hospitable instincts revolting. “What would Harry say? You must stay till he comes home, and he can perhaps induce you to stay all night.” “Oh dear, no—no, thank you; Mr. Bishop rarely stays anywhere from home at night.” “No, no, my dear,” echoed her father-in-law, “I am as old-fogyish as a bachelor, and I like to be at home.” “Well, at least you must stay the day.” “Well, if we shall not put you out, we will remain an hour or two.” “Come up-stairs, then; you will rest better when your cloak is off.” Molly had never felt as if her house was a bandbox till now. Mr. and Mrs. Bishop seemed literally to fill the parlor, yet they were not very large. Harry was much taller than his father, but they both had a ponderous way with them. Mrs. Bishop’s voice, too, was a deep contralto, which she used in a manner which, had it been affected, would have been haughty, but, natural as it had become, yet seemed to impress people against their will with a sense of her importance. “And so this is your little cottage? Do you find room in it?” “Oh, yes,” said Molly, smiling, “plenty;” but as she followed her mother-in-law up the narrow stairs, which had never seemed so narrow till she saw the rich dress and velvet-clad shoulders fill the whole space, she could see how very tiny it might seem to one accustomed to large rooms and broad spaces. Mrs. Bishop glanced around the pretty bed-room. “And Harry and you really are contented here?” she asked. “Indeed, we are more than contented; I’m as happy as the day is long.” “Well, it’s very strange for Harry; he was always the most fastidious boy; but happiness is everything, I suppose.” “We think so.” Molly helped Mrs. Bishop off with her cloak, which was so handsome as to look strangely out of place in that simple cottage room, and then said, “If you will excuse me, I will send you up some hot water and give orders for luncheon.” “Thank you, thank you; don’t let me keep you; and please don’t make any preparation.” “No, I will not; I must only see that sufficient for three persons instead of one is on the table.” She ran down-stairs, took Marta’s rolling-pin out of her hand, told her to take a pitcher of water up-stairs, and rolled the noodle-paste till she returned.