"That's the best and the worst about mother. She never says 'yes' when she means 'no,' and she never says either till it's all settled. I remember how, when I was little, I used to ask, 'Is it decided?' and when she answered, 'Yes, it's decided,' I gave up teasing. Mountains might crush, but never move her." "So it's 'Charity House' forever and a day. The trouble with you, mother, is that all you say--or the little you say--always means something. 'Charity House' is, I suppose, just as full of meaning as everything else. Isn't it? Let me guess. It's 'Charity' because cousin Archibald lets us live here for what he calls a 'starvation rent.' That's the meanest kind of 'Charity,' and it's a lie, too." "Hallam!" "But, mother, it is. I've heard these people talk, and they all say that the old curmudgeon--" "Hallam, thee is proving that a 'Charity House' is the very sort of home thee needed." "Well, motherkin, it's true. He is curmudgeon-y. He's tried for years to get a tenant for this property, and not even the mill folks would touch it. He took advantage of us and made us think we were getting a great deal for nothing." "Are we not? Look about thee." "Of course, it's big enough." "What a curious place it is," said Amy; "like a box that eggs come in. See, this is it," and she rapidly sketched upon a paper the diagram. "Two partitions run this way, north and south, and two run at right angles. That's three rooms deep on each floor, look at it from any point of view. Each room is as like its neighbor as its twin. Hmm, I didn't realize it, but there are eighteen rooms if we count the halls and the 'black hole.'" "Almost as large as 'Fairacres,' thee sees." "It's not so bad, if it weren't so fearfully bare," remarked Hallam, examining Amy's sketch. "But it's queer." The entrance hall was the middle front room of the old building. From this a flight of stairs ran up and ended in "the middle room" above, with a narrow flight behind into the attic. The upper middle room was therefore an open space, from the sides of which a narrow gallery had been reserved to surround the well-like opening of the stairway. Next the stairs the gallery was furnished with a strong plain railing, to prevent the accident of falling into the "well," and all the bedrooms had doors opening upon it. This upper space was dark, save when the bedroom doors were open and gave it light. So, also, was the room below; and beneath this, still, was the "black hole," the extension of a cellar under the kitchen. Whatever the original purpose of this "hole," which received no light nor ventilation except through the kitchen cellar, it was now the terror and despair of Cleena's cleanly soul. She had wasted many good candles in trying, by their light, to sweeten and make wholesome this damp, miserable place. But despite all it remained almost as she found it.