The goods we had ordered began to arrive after breakfast, Bert bringing them from the freight house in his large wagon. I took the day off, and devoted the morning to laying a stair carpet, probably the hottest job I ever tackled. Thank goodness, the stairs went straight up, without curve or angle! As I worked, small feet pattered by me, up and down, and garments from a big trunk in the lower hall brushed my face as they were being carried past--brushed their faint feminine perfume into my nostrils and made my hammer pause in mid-air. After the carpet was laid, there were a thousand and one other things to do. There were pictures of Stella's to be hung, and them we put in the hitherto vacant room at the front of the house, next to the dining-room, where Stella's wall desk was also placed, and a case of her books, and some chairs. "Now I can work here when you want to create literature in your room, or I can receive my distinguished visitors here when you are busy," she laughed, setting some ornaments on the mantel. "My, but I've got a lot of curtains to make! I never did so much sewing in my life." Bureaus were carried upstairs with Mike's assistance, and the ivory backs of a woman's toilet articles appeared upon them; open closets showed me rows of women's garments; glass candlesticks were unpacked and set upon the dining-table, and the new dining-chairs "dressed up" the room remarkably. Everywhere we went Mrs. Pillig followed with dust pan and broom, slicking up behind us. When night came it was still an incomplete house--"Oh, a million things yet to get," cried Stella, "just one by one, as we can afford it, which will be fun!"--but a house that spoke everywhere of a dainty mistress. Outside, by the woodshed, was a pile of packing-boxes and opened crates and excelsior. "There's _your_ work, Peter," I said, pointing. Peter looked rueful, but said nothing. That evening I tried to work, but found it difficult, for watching my wife sew. "You've no technique," I laughed. She made a little _moue_ at me, and went on hemming the curtains, getting up now and then to measure them. "Why should I have?" she said presently. "You knew I was a Ph. D. when you married me. These curtains be on your own head! I'm doing the best I can." There was suddenly the suspicion of moisture in her eyes, and I ran to comfort her. "I--I so want to make Twin Fires lovely," she added, pricking her finger. "Oh, tell me I can, if I am only a highbrow!" Of course the finger had to be kissed, and she had to be kissed, and the hem had to be inspected and praised, and now, long, long afterward, I smile to think how alike we all of us are on a honeymoon. It was the next morning that we resolved to begin the pool. "I don't expect to be married again for several years," said I, "and so I'm going to take a holiday this week. We'll carry the vegetables to market and bring back the cement, and begin on our water garden."