and scattered acorns, matches, butternuts and ears of corn in every direction, which rolled along the ceiling, fell down the partitions, knocked the mortar off the back of the laths and raised such a noisy commotion as ought to have roused the whole neighborhood.  No one stirred, and the architect once more addressed himself to blessed sleep, feeling that morning must soon put an end to his tribulations.  How long he slept he had no means of knowing.  It was still dark when he awoke:  dark but not still.  A distant footfall tinkled on the matted floor, followed by another and another in rapid, measured succession.  Could there be a cat or a dog in the room?  He could see nothing.  The moon was gone and the room was dark as Egypt.  Possibly some animal escaped from a traveling menagerie had hidden in the chamber.  He lay still and listened while the step—­step—­step—­kept on without break or change.  Presently he thought of ghosts, and as ghosts were the one thing he was not afraid of he turned over and went to sleep for good just as the village clock struck eleven.

In the morning when he awoke, it rained.  The ghostly footfalls continued; in fact, they had considerably increased, but they were no longer ghostly.  A dark spot on the ceiling directly over the portfolio of plans he had laid on the floor betrayed their source.  Portfolio and contents were as well soaked as if the fire companies had been at them—­all from a leak in the roof.

After breakfast, when Jill proposed to spend the time till it cleared off in looking over the plans he had brought, the architect was obliged to explain the disaster.

“It is just as well,” said he.  “I brought them because you asked me to bring them, not because I supposed there would be one among them that would suit you.  But they are not wasted.  These poor, dumb, dripping plans preach a most eloquent sermon, the practical application of which is only too evident.”

“But how can you make a tight roof?  There has always been a leak here when it rains with the wind in a certain quarter.  We keep a pan under it all the time, but somebody forgot to empty it; so it ran over last night.”

“You ought to see the house that I built,” said Jack.  “The wind may blow where it listeth and never a drop comes through the roof.”

“Oh, Jack, what a story!  Only yesterday you showed me where the ceiling was stained and the paper just ready to come off.”

“That wasn’t from rain water.  It was from snow and ice water, which is a very different affair.  We had peculiar weather last winter.  I know a man who lost three thousand dollars’ worth of frescoes in one night.”