You see, I can call it that because it's a quotation - what the Littlest Daughter said when she first saw it; and since she, with her big sister, is joint owner of its charms, I for one shall not dispute her title. And of course I feel flattered, for, in planning this room, two problems immediately presented themselves. First, the exposure was northeast, and warmth of color had to be contrived; with us so many months of the year are downright cold and bleak. Yet not too much, for a low-ceilinged upper chamber in one of these old "story 'n' half" houses can be unbelievably hot when loitering summer does at last come our way. Warmth, rosy warmth, I must have; but equally I had to temper it with hints of cool blues, and a proper background was the first consideration. Dense, unimaginative cartridge paper would have defeated my purpose; and stripes, even in the right colors, had the effect of a little, dumpy woman who dresses for length and then stands on tiptoe to make herself look as tall as possible. Quite by happy chance, as well as experiment, I found the flowered paper now on the walls, a semi-conventional pattern, more pink than blue, so that both seasons were suited. And its old-fashioned, sprigged design is in harmony with the idea of the room - naive and childlike, as I meant it to be. I like to think it resembles the wall-paper that Anatole France describes in his lovable "Livre de Mon Ami," when his mother, marking a single flower on that blossom-strewn wall with her embroidery needle, said, "Je te donne cette rose."

My second difficulty you may already have guessed - certainly, if you remember my earlier confession that five of us - and a pussycat! - must be fitted, somehow, into eight rooms. Why, I simply can't have a family skeleton; I have n't a suitable closet to hide him in. This room - roughly speaking its dimensions are sixteen feet by twelve - had to be adapted to the needs of two girls of quite different ages, one of the first conditions of all being that they should not sleep together. Now, those of you who have hunted for old beds, and whose search has been blessed, can bear me out when I say that these low-posters very seldom come in pairs. I have never seen two exactly alike, and, even if I had, I could not have got both beds into that room at once. So observe, please, my compromise: a low-post bedstead, and a couch, comfortable and cushioned by day, which magically transforms itself into a cot, pillowed and comfortable, by night.

But will you begin, just as you always do, and walk around the room with me? I can show you so much better. Is n't the ceiling delightful - rounded just like an ancient field bed, or the top of one of those antedeluvian horse cars that we used to ride on when we were children? On both doors are H and L hinges, those magic initials which stood, so they say, for Holy Lord, and, by pointing to a cross in the door, kept witches away. We are not superstitious, anyway O------is n't, - but we are fond of them, and when, recently, a pair broke, we very naturally carried them to be repaired at our village blacksmith's, and laid great stress upon their worth. Now, of course, you know and I know that professors are not supposed to be overpractical, "book-learning" in our North Country being a direct negation of that quality. "Professor," said the kindly artisan, "didn't you know that you could get a good, new pair of hinges at the hardware store cheaper'n I could mend these for you?" (I emphasize this story to show the countryside attitude toward old things.)

The little desk I picked up for two dollars in a Vermont village. Most of the frame is soft wood, the drawer alone being butternut; but I kept it, not only because it was so convenient for a child to write at, but for its real grace of line. If you will notice the legs, you will see at once how well they are turned. I have frequently seen the feet of reeded Sheraton tables with just the same pretty shaping. That is why I am inclined to class it as a fairly early Empire piece. On it I have placed only the necessary reading-lamp and an old Chinese lacquer jewel-box, which repeats again the brown-and-gold notes of the mahogany furniture, and makes an admirable receptacle for a small girl's paper and pencils. The chair in front of the desk is early nineteenth century, too, and is stenciled in a flowing vine pattern in gold, with vivid touches of green and black. This I bought at the same shop for a dollar.

Next you come to the couch, and I am wondering if you will at once recognize the coverlet upon it. It is the three-colored, three-dollar one which I bought at that little, mist-hung farmhouse on an autumn hillside; just the colors to suit the room: cream, coral-pink, and deep indigo; and in the cushions I was fortunate enough to match the shades exactly. My rugs, woven in tones of blues and pinks, are modern, alas! and here may I give you a bit of my own experience? While you frequently find old drawn-in rugs which are very desirable, and, at times, braided rugs which are very pretty, you almost never discover delicately colored woven rugs, they, apparently, having long since gone to a worthy rest. But mine, modern as they are, are attractive, durable, and have the added advantage of costing something less than five dollars; for the price, to be exact, was precisely four dollars and thirty-six cents.

But all my economies fade into nothingness beside my real, triumphant bargain - the acanthus carved bed. It is one of the two loveliest low-posters I have ever seen, with its graceful, flaring leaf-carving and its incised acanthus design in the three rounds. For eight dollars it became mine, and I shall never forget the anxiety with which I gazed at the one post displayed in a corner of the shop, and wondered if there were three others to go with it, or if it alone had been rescued from the woodpile; for such, in the past, was the custom of the country. Of course, getting it into condition to use doubled the price; but, after all, what was sixteen dollars for such excellence?