down in the parlour and the boarder's wife had gone to see about something concerning the dinner. Euphemia asked after the children.
"I hope they haven't gone to bed," she said, "for I do so want to see the dear little things."
The ex-boarder, as Euphemia called him, smiled grimly.
"They're not so very little," he said. "My wife's son is nearly grown. He is at an academy in Connecticut, and he expects to go into a civil engineer's office in the spring. His sister is older than he is. My wife married—in the first instance—when she was very young—very young indeed."
"Oh!" said Euphemia; and then, after a pause, "and neither of them is at home now?"
"No," said the ex-boarder. "By the way, what do you think of this dado? It is a portable one; I devised it myself. You can take it away with you to another house when you move. But there is the dinner-bell. I'll show you over the establishment after we have had something to eat."
After our meal we made a tour of inspection. The flat, which included the whole floor, contained nine or ten rooms, of all shapes and sizes. The corners in some of the rooms were cut off and shaped up into closets and recesses, so that Euphemia said the corners of every room were in some other room.
Near the back of the flat was a dumb-waiter, with bells and speaking-tubes. When the butcher, the baker, or the kerosene-lamp maker came each morning he rang the bell, and called up the tube to know what was wanted. The order was called down, and he brought the things in the afternoon.
All this greatly charmed Euphemia. It was so cute, so complete. There were no interviews with
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