There was one good sized living-room, with an ancient rag-carpet partially covering the floor, a sheet-iron stove, a sofa, a table and three or four old-fashioned chairs that had probably come from a second-hand dealer.
Opening from this were two closet-like rooms containing each a bed and a chair, with a wash-basin on a bracket shelf.

On the wails were a few colored prints from the Sunday newspapers and one large and fine photograph of a grizzled old soldier that Uncle John at once decided must represent "the Colonel." Having noted these details, Patsy's uncle smoothed back his stubby gray hair with a reflective and half puzzled gesture.
"It's cozy enough, my child; and I thank you for my welcome," said he.
"But may I enquire where on earth you expect to stow me in this rather limited establishment ?" "Where?
Have you no eyes, then ?" she asked, in astonishment.

"It's the finest sofa in the world, Uncle John, and you'll sleep there like a top, with the dear Colonel's own picture looking down at you to keep you safe and give you happy dreams.

Where, indeed!" "Ah; I see," said Uncle John.
"And you can wash in my chamber," added the Major, with a grand air, "and hang your clothes on the spare hooks behind my door." "I haven't many," said Uncle John, looking thoughtfully at his red bundle.
The Major coughed and turned the lamp a little higher.
"You'll find the air fine, and the neighborhood respectable," he said, to turn the subject.

"Our modest apartments are cool in summer and warm in winter, and remarkably reasonable in price.