Certainly Elizabeth had never had such fun in her life. She scarcely knew which delightful thing to do first, and she had only about two hours to complete her arrangements before the family would arrive.
She decided to decorate first, and the great hamper of flowers was forthwith brought into the barn, and the chauffeur set to work twining ropes and sprays of smilax and asparagus fern over doorways and pictures, and training it like a vine about the stone chimney. Then came the flowers. Pots of tall starry lilies, great, heavy-headed, exquisite-breathed roses, pink, white, yellow, and crimson; daffodils and sweet peas, with quantities of sweet violets in the bottom of the basket. Elizabeth with deft fingers selected the flowers skilfully, putting pots of lilies on the window-sills, massing a quantity of pink roses in a dull gray jar she found among the kitchen things, that looked to the initiated amazingly as though it might once have been part of a water-filter, but it suited the pink roses wonderfully. The tall vases on the bookcases each Bide of the fireplace held daffodils. Sweet peas were glowing in small vases and glasses and bowls, and violets in saucers filled the air with fragrance. White and yellow roses were on the dining-table, and three exquisite tall crimson rosebuds glowed in a slender glass vase Elizabeth had brought with her. This she placed in Mrs. Hollister's room on the little stand that she judged would be placed beside the bed when the bed arrived. The flowers certainly did give an atmosphere to the place in more senses than one; and the girl was delighted, and fluttered from one spot to another, changing the position of a vase or bowl, and then standing off to get the effect.
"Now bring me the big bundle, Jenkins, please," she said at length when she was satisfied with the effect. "Oh, and the little long box. Be careful. It is broken at one end, and the screws may fall out."
Jenkins was soon back with the things.
"Now, you get the rods put up at the windows, Jenkins, while I get out the curtains," and she untied the big bundle with eager fingers.
Jenkins was adaptable, and the rods were simple affairs. He was soon at work, and Elizabeth ran the rods into the curtains.
They were not elegant curtains. Graham had insisted that she should get nothing elaborate, nothing that would be out of keeping with the simplicity. They were soft and straight and creamy, with a frost-like pattern rambling over them in threads of the same, illuminated here and there with a single rose and a leaf in color. There was something cheerful and spring-like to them, and yet they looked exceedingly plain and suitable, no ruffles or trimming of any kind, just hems. To Elizabeth's mind they had been very cheap. Shirley would have exclaimed over their beauty wistfully and turned from them with a gasp when she heard their price. They were one of those quiet fitting things that cost without flaunting it. They transformed the room into a dream.