“Isn’t this rather a solemn letter?” Jack inquired.

“Yes; it’s a solemn subject.”

“Shall you ’do your own work’?”

“Of course I shall.  How can I help it?

     ‘Each hath a work that no other can do;’

but just precisely what my own work will be I am not at present prepared to say.”

“Is Aunt Melville as solemn as Aunt Jerusha?”

“Aunt Melville assures her dear niece that ’the last plans are absolutely beyond criticism:  the rooms are large and elegant, the modern conveniences perfect, the kitchen and servants’ quarters isolated from the rest of the house’—­”

“That won’t suit the other aunty.”

“The porte cochere and side entrance most convenient and the front entrance sufficiently distinguished by the tower.  I particularly like the porte cochere at the side.  If none of your callers came on foot there would be no objection to having it at the front entrance, but it isn’t pleasant to be compelled to walk up the carriage-way.  As you see, this is a brick house, and I am persuaded you ought to build of bricks.  It will cost ten or fifteen per cent. more—­possibly twenty—­but in building a permanent home you ought not to consider the cost for a moment.’”

“That’s a comfortable doctrine, if everybody would live up to it,” said Jack.

“Yes; and like a good many other comfortable doctrines, it contains too much truth to be rejected—­not enough to be accepted.  We must count the cost, but if we limit ourselves to a certain outlay, and positively refuse to go beyond that, we shall regret it as long as we live.  We may leave some things unfinished, but whatever is done past alteration, either in size or quality, must be right, whatever it costs.”

And herein Jill displayed her good sense.  It is, indeed, a mistake to build a house beyond the possibility of paying for it, or of maintaining it without a constant struggle, but in building a permanent home there is more likely to be lasting regret through too close economy in the first outlay, than through extravagance—­regret that can only be cured by an outlay far exceeding what the original cost would have been.

The architect came as the sun went down, and, after being duly warmed, fed and cheered, was informed by Jill that all she expected from him that evening was an explanation of the respective merits of wood and brick houses.  Jack begged the privilege of taking notes, to keep himself awake, Jill begged the architect to be as brief as possible, and the architect begged for a small blackboard and a piece of chalk, that he might, in conveying his ideas, use the only one, true, natural and universal language which requires no grammar, dictionary or interpreter.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER IV.

MANY FIRES MAKE SMALL DIVIDENDS.