The knocking at the side door and the thumping overhead blended in a
travesty on the anvil chorus, the staccato tapping of somebody's
knuckles rising flute-like above the hammering of Joel's cane. TO some
temperaments the double summons would have proved confusing, but Persis
Dale dropped her sewing and moved briskly to the door, addressing the
ceiling as she went. "'Twon't hurt you to wait."