"Oh, you may talk, John, but it's important for somebody to remember all these things. Jennie Hunter--Jennie Gwynne, I mean, ought to be told that somebody besides those two forlorn helpless boys knows about it, and she can't have everything her own way----" "Better not interfere, Clara," said the doctor, really serious this time. And Miss Clara who knew very well herself that she ought not to interfere, was silenced for a while. All the morning she seethed, watching one van after another trudge away from the house, laden, apparently, with old mattresses, stove-pipes, and table-legs; for, such is the irony of circumstance, that, let a house be ever so richly supplied otherwise, these useful and universal but singularly uncomely articles always occupy the positions of most prominence on a furniture-wagon. Their view fed without appeasing the fire of Miss Clara's curiosity; she exhausted herself in conjecture. And Doctor Vardaman had not been gone half an hour on his afternoon's round of visits when she called me excitedly. "Get your hat and coat; I'm going up there right away. You can't tell what Jennie Gwynne may be doing. I saw something sticking out of the back of the last wagon, and I won't be positive, of course, but it looked _very much_ like the top of one of the mahogany posts to that big four-post bed in Harriet's room; they are solid mahogany, you know, Mary, carved all the way up with a kind of pineapple-shaped thing on the top. If Jennie Gwynne's gone and given away that bed that was poor Gwynne's own mother's, I just won't stand it, that's all! She won't stop till she's stripped the boys perfectly bare. What's that? Maybe it's being sent to storage? Oh, pshaw, she'd never do that, it's too handsome! For a minute I thought it was the bed in the spare-room, but I remember now that has helmets carved on top of the posts, not pineapples. Is my bonnet straight? You know, of course, Mary, I don't think Jennie would do anything dishonest," she added hastily, her kind old face suddenly perturbed. "I wouldn't for the world have you think I meant that. But she's always run everything and everybody. I don't believe Horace Gwynne dares to say his soul's his own--why, you _know_ that, you've been there. Jennie just can't help it--she's always perfectly sure she's right, and she never will listen to anybody, or consider anybody else's opinion worth anything."