lowboy, gate-legged table and another larger, center one. Old chairs with fiddle and spindle backs, an ancient mirror and a yet more ancient clock, hand-woven rugs and carpets, some cushions and curtains for the windows; it made a brave and comfortable show, and the two women surveyed it with satisfaction.
"It makes the place look like a real home, Thora," said Mary, who was sewing at some stuff, to Thora, darning stockings.
Thora nodded her head and finished her criss-cross.
"It bane hard for just two women to make a home," she said. "They bane keep everything too much in place; home needs a man—and kiddies—to make it real complete."
Mary's eyes twinkled.
"Is that all you need a man for, Thora, to make work for you, to clutter up the house so that you can clean up after him?"
"He bane make safe the house," said Thora, eyes on another darn.
"We have the gate. And you are as good as any man, Thora."
"Ay, I suppose so." And Thora gave a little sigh.
"Thora. Is it Red?" Thora blushed. It started at the V of her gown where her milky skin was untouched by the sun, it spread up under the tan.
"Red, he bane gude enough," she answered. "And he bane awful fule too."
"Are you looking for a perfect man, Thora? There ain't any such animal," teased the other.
