"Why, you see," he drawled, "I'm built a good deal like the old
steam launch Tobias Wixon used to own. Every time Tobias blew the
whistle it used up all the steam and the engine stopped. I've got
a head about like that engine; when I want to use it I have to give
all the rest of me a layoff. . . . Here we are, ma'am. Walk right
in, won't you."
He showed them through room after room of the little house, opening
the closed shutters so that the afternoon sunlight might stream in
and brighten their progress. The rooms were small, but they were
attractive and cosy. The furniture was almost all old mahogany and
in remarkably good condition. The rugs were home-made; even the
coverlets of the beds were of the old-fashioned blue and white,
woven on the hand looms of our great-grandmothers. Mrs. Armstrong
was enthusiastic.
"It is like a miniature museum of antiques," she declared. "And
such wonderful antiques, too. You must have been besieged by
people who wanted to buy them."
Jed nodded. "Ye-es," he admitted, "I cal'late there's been no
less'n a million antiquers here in the last four or five year. I
don't mean here in the house--I never let 'em in the house--but
'round the premises. Got so they kind of swarmed first of every
summer, like June bugs. I got rid of 'em, though, for a spell."
"Did you; how?"
He rubbed his chin.
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