his mother had lived during her lifetime, she having inherited it from
her father, the rooms of the old farm house were filled with quaint,
old-fashioned furniture of every description. "Aunt Sarah," on coming
to the farm to live, had given a personal touch and cheery, homelike
look to every room in the house, with one exception, the large,
gloomy, old-fashioned parlor, which was cold, cheerless and damp. She
confessed to Mary she always felt as if John's dead-and-gone
ancestors' ghostly presences inhabited the silent room. The windows
were seldom opened to allow a ray of sunlight to penetrate the dusk
with which the room was always enveloped, except when the regular
weekly sweeping day arrived; when, after being carefully swept and
dusted, it was promptly closed. A room every one avoided, Aunt Sarah
was very particular about always having fresh air and sunlight in
every other part of the house but his one room. The old fireplace had
been boarded up many years before Aunt Sarah's advent to the farm, so
it could not be used. One day Mary noticed, while dusting the room
(after it had been given a thorough sweeping by Sibylla, Aunt Sarah's
one maid servant), that the small, many-paned windows facing the East,
at one end of the parlor, when opened, let in a flood of sunshine; and
in the evening those at the opposite end of the long room gave one a
lovely view of the setting sun--a finer picture than any painted by
the hand of a master. Mary easily persuaded her Aunt to make some
changes in the unlivable room. She suggested that they consult her
Uncle about repapering and painting the room and surprise him with the
result when finished.

Aunt Sarah, who never did things by halves, said: "Mary, I have long
intended 'doing over' this room, but thought it such a great
undertaking. Now, with your assistance, I shall make a sweep of these
old, antiquated heirlooms of a past generation. This green carpet,