ast of the row, was already occupied. But
they did steal up on the porch of one bungalow, and they exclaimed like
children when they beheld the big living-room, the huge fireplace, the
built-in shelves and, beyond the living-room, what seemed to be the
dining-room, with an enormous chandelier which may not, perhaps, have
been of the delicate reticence of a silver candlestick, but whose jags
and blobs of ruby and emerald and purple glass filled their hearts with
awe.

"We _will_ get one of these houses!" Father vowed. "I thought you'd like
them. I swear, I'll cut out my smoking, if necessary. Say! Got another
idea! I wonder if we couldn't make up some excuse and butt into the
bungalow that's been rented, and see how it looks furnished. I
understand there's some new-comers living there. We'll sort of make them
a neighborly call."

"Oh, do you think we ought to?"

Mother, she who had faced a sheriff's shot-gun, was timorous about
facing an irate matron, and she tagged hesitatingly after Father as he
marched along the row of bungalows, up the steps of the one that was
rented, and rang the bell.

The door was opened by a maid, in a Lipsittsville version of a uniform.

"Lady or gent o' the house in?" asked Father, airily sticking his new
derby on one side of his head and thrusting a thumb in an armhole, very
impudent and fresh and youthful.

"No, sir," said the maid, stupidly.

Mother sighed. To tell the truth, she had wanted to see the promised
land of this bungalow.

"Well, say, girl, Mrs. Appleby and I are thinking of renting one of
these here bungalonies, like the fellow says, and I wonder if we could
take a look at this house, to see how it looks furnished?"

The maid stared dumbly at him, looked suspiciously at Mother. Apparently
she decided that, though the flamboyant Father was likely to steal
everything in the house, Mother was a person to be trusted, and she
mumbled, "Yass, I gass so."

Father led the way in, and Mother stumbled over every possible obstacle,
so absorbed was she by the intimate pleasantness which furniture gave to
this big living-room--as large as the whole of their flat in New York.
Actually, the furniture wasn't impressive--just a few good willow
chairs, a big couch, a solid table. There were only two or three
pictures, one rug, and, in the built-in shelves, no books at all. But it
had space and cheerfulness; it was a home.

"Here's the dining-room, with butler's pantry, and that door