He sent the cook after the screwdriver, called the hired man from the furnace, shouted upstairs to Page to ask for the whereabouts of the brass nails, and delegated Laura to steady the stepladder.

“Now, Landry,” directed Laura, “those rods want to be about three inches from the top.”

“Well,” he said, climbing up, “I’ll mark the place with the screw and you tell me if it is right.”

She stepped back, her head to one side.

“No; higher, Landry. There, that’s about it⁠—or a little lower⁠—so. That’s just right. Come down now and help me put the hooks in.”