and particular about some things, he's careless enough about others.
Mercy we ain't had any tramps around here lately. Come in."

She led the way into the dining room of the parsonage. Two of the blinds
shading the windows of that apartment had been opened when she and
Captain Daniels made their visit, and the dim gray light made the room
more lonesome and forsaken in appearance than a deeper gloom could
possibly have done. The black walnut extension table in the center,
closed to its smallest dimensions because Parson Langley had eaten alone
for so many years; the black walnut chairs set back against the wall at
regular intervals; the rag carpet and braided mats--homemade donations
from the ladies of the parish--on the green painted floor; the dolorous
pictures on the walls; "Death of Washington," "Stoning of Stephen," and
a still more deadly "fruit piece" committed in oils years ago by a now
deceased boat painter; a black walnut sideboard with some blue-and-white
crockery upon it; a gilt-framed mirror with another outrage in oils
emphasizing its upper half; dust over everything and the cobwebs
mentioned by Keziah draping the corners of the ceiling; this was the
dining room of the Regular parsonage as Grace saw it upon this, her
first visit. The dust and cobwebs were, in her eyes, the only novelties,
however. Otherwise, the room was like many others in Trumet, and, if
there had been one or two paintings of ships, would have been typical of
the better class.

"Phew!" exclaimed Keziah, sniffing disgustedly. "Musty and shut up
enough, ain't it? Down here in the dampness, and 'specially in the
spring, it don't take any time for a house to get musty if it ain't
aired out regular. Mr. Langley died only three months ago, but we've
been candidatin' ever since and the candidates have been boarded round.
There's been enough of 'em, too; we're awful hard to suit, I guess.