In photos, it looked charming in what Ms. Foxley describes as a fashionably shabby, slipcovered sort of way.

Mary Ruth was rutsching around, squirming to beat the band. Well, jah, all right, Ida said, not going all the way to the door, but motioning quickly to her. They scampered like frightened cats upstairs to what was now Hannah's bedroom.

“Some alien nobhead curses me and I'm supposed to just lie back and take it? No sir. Kneel before your god, infidel.”

Nor was the president's talk of abundant and inexhaustible resources mere gasconade.