“A can o’ pee? You mean this place doesn’t have bathrooms?”
Mom shook her finger at me. “You know very well what I mean, Lars. A canopy over the bed, not under it!”
“It better not have ruffles,” I protested.
“Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “As canopies go, it’s not a bit frilly. It was masculine enough for your ancestor George to sleep under. Besides, George himself is hanging in your room. So’s his wife.”
“H-h-h-hanging . . . ,” I stuttered, every horror movie I’d ever seen replaying before my eyes.
“She’s only teasing you, Lars,” Dad said. “It’s a portrait of the old boy by Charles Willson Peale, who painted most of the Revolution big shots, like Washington and Franklin. Well, here we are!”
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