They had a great day putting the furniture in the living-room. They tried it in a dozen different places and were not satisfied until they had found the absolutely right one. Sometimes they could not agree about it and then they would sit on the floor and argue it out. And if they couldn't settle it they got Daffy to pull straws with his teeth and decide it that way. Daffy was always around. Saucy Sal had died of old age and Daffy was getting stiff and a bit cranky and snored dreadfully when he was sleeping, but Emily adored him and would not go to the Disappointed House without him. He always slipped up the hill path beside her like a grey shadow dappled with dark.
"You love that old cat more than you do me, Emily," Dean once said—jestingly yet with an undernote of earnest.
"I have to love him," defended Emily. "He's growing old. You have all the years before us. And I must always have a cat about. A house isn't a home without the ineffable contentment of a cat with its tail folded about its feet. A cat gives mystery, charm, suggestion. And you must have a dog."
"I've never cared to have a dog since Tweed died. But perhaps I'll get one—an altogether different kind of a one. We'll need a dog to keep your cats in order. Oh, isn't it nice to feel that a place belongs to you?"
"It's far nicer to feel that you belong to a place," said Emily, looking about her affectionately.
"Our house and we are going to be good friends," agreed Dean.