"Another bathroom like that
would put us in the poor-house. And the neighbors all think we're
crazy!"
The old Squire, however, rubbed his hands with a smile of satisfaction.
"I call it rather fine. I guess we are going to like it," he said.
Like it we did, certainly. Bathing was no longer an ordeal, but a
delight. There was plenty of warm water; you had only to pick your tub,
enter your cubicle and shut the door. Bethesda, with its Granger furnace
and big water heater, was a veritable household joy.
"Ruth," the old Squire said, "all I'm sorry for is that I didn't do this
thirty years ago. When I reflect on the cold, miserable baths we have
taken and the other privations you and I have endured all these years it
makes me heartsick to think what I've neglected."
"But nine hundred dollars, Joseph!" grandmother interposed with a
scandalized expression. "That's an awful bill!"
"Yes," the old Squire admitted, "but we shall survive it."
Grandmother was right about our neighbors. What they said among
themselves would no doubt have been illuminating if we had heard it; but
they maintained complete silence when we were present. But we noticed
that when they called at the farmhouse they cast curious and perhaps
envious glances at the new lean-to.
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