There really seemed to be no reason why Mrs. John should not go
away, if she wished--and she apparently did wish. It was at about this
time, too, that certain Vermont villages--one of which was the Honorable
John Burton's birthplace--were stirred to sudden interest and action. A
persistent, smiling-faced woman had dropped into their midst--a woman
who drove from house to house, and who, in every case, left behind her a
sworn ally and friend, pledged to serve her cause.
Little by little, in an unused room in the village hotel there began to
accumulate a motley collection--a clock, a marble-topped table, a
cradle, a patchwork quilt, a bureau, a hair wreath, a chair worn with
age and use. And as this collection grew in size and fame, only that
family which could not add to it counted itself abused and unfortunate,
so great was the spell that the persistent, smiling-faced woman had cast
about her.
Just before the Burton house was finished Mrs. John came back to town.
She had to hurry a little about the last of the decorations and
furnishings to make up for lost time; but there came a day when the
place was pronounced ready for occupancy.
It was then that Mrs. John hurried into Grandpa and Grandma Burton's
rooms at the hotel.
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