"Yes--but you know wages are low just now and lumber is cheap. Having no roof to the porch made it inexpensive. The painting Anthony helped at himself. He worked every minute of his two weeks' vacation on whatever would cost most to hire done." "Anthony worked at painting the house?" There was astonishment in Mr. Marcy's voice. He had known the Robesons of Kentucky all his life. He had never seen one of them lift his hand to do manual labour. There had been no need. "Yes," said Juliet, and the cheek which rested against her father's knee began to grow warm. "You have obtained a somewhat extraordinary effect of harmony and comfort inside the house," Mr. Marcy pursued. "It is difficult to understand just how you brought it about with so small an expenditure of money." It was quite impossible now for Juliet to keep her head down. She looked up eagerly, but she still managed to speak quietly. "It _is_ effect, father, and it is art--not money. The paper on the wall cost twenty-five cents a roll, but it is the right paper for the place, and the wrong paper at ten times that sum wouldn't give the room such a background of soft restfulness. Then, you see, the old white woodwork is in very good style, and the green walls bring it out. The old floor was easily dressed to give that beautiful waxed finish. They told me how to do that at the best decorator's in Boston. The rug fits the colourings very well. Anthony's old furniture would give any such room dignity. The portrait lends the finishing touch, I think. You see, when you analyse it all there's nothing in the least wonderful. But it looks like a home--doesn't it? And when the little things are in which grow in a home--the photographs, a bowl of sweet-williams from the garden, the lovely old copper lamp you gave me on my birthday--can't you think how dear it will all be?" Mr. Marcy glanced down keenly into his daughter's face. "There are a great many things of your own at home which would naturally come into your married home," he said. Juliet coloured richly. "Yes," she answered with steady eyes, "but except for the lamp, and the photographs, and a few such very little things, I should not bring them. Anthony is poor, but he is very proud. I couldn't hurt him by furnishing his home with the overflow of mine. Besides--I don't need those things. I don't want them. All I want out of the old home is--your love--your blessing, dear!" The sharp eyes meeting hers softened suddenly. Juliet drew herself to her knees, and leaning forward across her father's lap, reached both arms up and flung them about his neck. He held her close, her head upon his shoulder, and all at once he found the slender figure in his arms shaken with feeling. Juliet was not crying, but she was drawing long, deep breaths like a child who tries to control itself.