Books--proper compilations, selections, and poems--lay in austere firmness, each on its own spot on the bleak plateau of the marble-topped centre-table. A clock that had not made a new record of time in sixty-one thousand three hundred and twenty hours, pointed stoically to ten minutes to five from its position precisely in the middle of the parlor mantelpiece, flanked on either hand by a grimly resolute bronze warrior. On the chair nearest the door lay the new curtains, dark blue, heavy material, folded neatly and piled on one another. The old ones, which had been pretty, green-corded silk, hung in their places at the six windows; even in the dim light they had abandoned all hope of concealing the fact that they were badly faded, and displayed their yellow streaks with hopeless candor. At the sight of them an inspiration came to Wythie which nearly took her breath away. What was Aunt Azraella going to do with those old curtains? Aunt Azraella laid aside her lingering sun-hat with a manner--for her--actually sprightly. "I'll get the steps, Oswyth, and you might be shaking the new curtains out of their folds and putting the pins in," she said. "You'll find new pins in that box on top of the pink china vase. Turn the curtains down to the depth of this card across the tops--all but two pairs. They have to be turned slanting, because they go at the end windows, where the floor has settled. But there! You can't do much while I'm getting the steps." And Aunt Azraella stepped away with a certain crisp decision which was her way of hurrying--Aunt Azraella never flustered. Oswyth obediently shook out the curtains, and had laid the new upholsterer's pins on the table, separating them into detached rows, like so many brass grasshoppers, by the time her aunt returned with the step-ladder hung gracefully on one arm, the other slightly extended for balance. Before her walked Tobias, the tiger cat, so called because of his fishing proclivities, and who, so far from being spoiled like Kiku-san, was staid and serious, relegated to the kitchen and Elvira's society, and only suffered in the parlor under special conditions and surveillance, like the present. "I'll take the old ones down, aunt; I can run up and down the steps more easily than you," said Wythie, taking the step-ladder from her aunt, and testing its iron brace as she set it before the first window. Mrs. Winslow began to stick pins into the obdurate new material, marking the amount to be turned down by keeping the card she had notched against it with her left thumb, holding the while a second brass grasshopper between her teeth, ready for use. Wythie unhooked the old pins from the rings and let the faded curtains droop, eagerly planning the while, and wondering if she could get her courage to the begging-point. "I don't think," said gentle Wythie to herself, "I do _not_ think that we can be forbidden to covet our neighbor's goods when they are so very old and faded."