The room was so dark he could see nothing, and, having heard his father say that there were some choice oil paintings at The Firs, he opened a window to get light enough to view them. He had a hard task, as it seemed the sash and shutters had not been moved since they were built, but finally a stream of light entered the gloomy apartment, with the horse-hair furniture arranged stiffly against the wall. Dick caught sight of a large painting and was going closer to examine it when he heard a shriek in the open doorway. "Mercy sakes, Richard! Whatever have you done?" he heard his aunt call. "Why, I just opened a window to let some light in, so I could see the pictures," he answered. "Light? In this room? Why, Richard Hamilton! This room hasn't been opened in years! We never think of letting light in the parlor. The carpet might fade. Oh, Richard, I am so sorry! If I thought you would have opened a window I would have locked the door. Shut it and come out at once! Mercy sakes!" Much abashed, Dick closed the shutters and window and walked out. His aunt ran and got a broom, with which she brushed the carpet where he had stepped, though how she could see any dust in that gloom was more than the boy could understand. "Never, never go in there again," cautioned his aunt. "We never open that room except--for funerals." "I guess that's all it's good for," thought Dick. He sat around, very miserable, the remainder of the afternoon, and had little appetite for supper, which was rather a scant meal; some preserves, bread and weak tea making up the repast. "I think I'll take a stroll to the village," remarked the youth, as he arose from the table. "Where?" asked his aunt, as if she had not heard aright. "To the village. I'd like to see what's going on." "There's nothing going on," replied his uncle. "The village is five miles from here. Besides, we go to bed early, and I don't allow any one in my house, visitor or otherwise, to come in with a latch key. You'd better stay here, read some good book to improve your mind, and retire early. That's what I do, and I find it pays." Dick groaned. He now knew the meaning of his father's queer smile. "Then I'll walk around outside the house for a while to get some air," proposed Dick. "I'd rather you wouldn't," came from Mr. Larabee, as he squirmed uneasily in his chair. "The gravel walks have just been raked smooth, and I hate to have 'em disturbed." Dick did not answer, but sat in his chair silently, while his aunt cleared off the supper table. When the lamps were lighted, which was not done until it was quite dark, Mr. Larabee handed Dick a book. The boy hoped it might be some tale of adventures that would help pass away the hours, but on looking at the title he saw it was "Pilgrim's Progress." "I guess I'll go to bed," he announced, and his aunt and uncle gave an audible sigh of relief.