"
"Well, that's an idea, to be sure.--Miss Craydocke!"--Sin Saxon says
this in a sudden interjectional way, as if it were with some quite fresh
idea,--"I'm certain you play chess!"
"You're mistaken. I don't."
"You would, then, by intuition. Your counter-moves are--so--triumphant.
Why, it's really an ornament!" With a little stress and strain that made
her words interjectional, she had got it into place, thrusting one end
up the throat of the chimney, and lodging the crotch that held the nest
upon the stems of fresh pine that lay across the andirons; and the "odds
and ends," in safe position, and suggesting neither harm nor
unsuitableness, looked unique and curious, and not so ugly.
"It's really an ornament!" repeated Sin, shaking the dust off her dress.
"As you expected, of course," replied Miss Craydocke.
"Well, I wasn't--not to say--confident. I was afraid it mightn't be much
but scientific. But now--if you don't forget and light a fire under it
some day, Miss Craydocke!"
"I shan't forget; and I'm very much obliged, really.
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