The kitchen door was open, and revealed a large, low
chamber whose rafters were studded with orange-colored hams, whose
fireplace was vast and black save for a small wood fire filling but a
quarter of the hearth. Grocer's almanacs brought brave color to the walls,
sharing the same with a big dresser where the china made a play of
reflected light from the windows. Above the lofty mantel-piece there hung
an old fowling-piece, and a row of faded Daguerreotypes, into most of which
damp had eaten dull yellow patches. The mantel-shelf carried some rough
stoneware ornaments, an eight-day clock, a tobacco jar, and divers small
utensils of polished tin. A big table covered with American cloth filled
the center of the kitchen, a low settle crossed the alcove of the window,
and a leather screen, of four folds and five feet high, surrounded Uncle
Chirgwin's own roomy armchair in the chimney-corner. Strips of cocoanut
fiber lay upon the ground, but between them appeared the bare floor. It was
paved with blue stone for the most part, though here and there a square of
white broke the color; and the white patches had worn lower than the rest
under many generations of hobnailed boots. A faint odor of hams was in the
air, and the slight, stuffy smell of feathers.
A woman sat in the window as Joan entered. She had her back to the door,
and not hearing the footfall, went on with her work, which was the plucking
of a fowl.
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