"No; I don't mean no man."

"Harry? Thede?"

"No; I mean, s'posin'. Can't we put on an ell when we want it?"

"Certainly."

"An' now, can't ye make yer picter look kind o' cozy like, with a little
feller playin' on the ground down there afore the stoop?"

Mr. Benedict not only could do this, but he did it; and then Jim took
it, and looked at it for a long time.

"Well, little feller, ye can play thar till ye're tired, right on that
paper, an' then ye must come into the house, an' let yer ma wash yer
face;" and then Jim, realizing the comical side of all this charming
dream, laughed till the woods rang again, and Benedict laughed with him.
It was a kind of clearing up of the cloud of sentiment that enveloped
them both, and they were ready to work. They settled, after a long
discussion, upon the site of the new house, which was back from the
river, near Number Ten. There were just three things to be done during
the remainder of the autumn and the approaching winter. A cellar was to
be excavated, the timber for the frame of the new house was to be cut
and hewed, and the lumber was to be purchased and drawn to the river.
Before the ground should freeze, they determined to complete the cellar,
which was to be made small--to be, indeed, little more than a cave
beneath the house, that would accommodate such stores as it would be
necessary to shield from the frost. A fortnight of steady work, by both
the men, not only completed the excavation, but built the wall.

Then came the selection of timber for the frame. It was all found near
the spot, and for many days the sound of two axes was heard through the
great stillness of the Indian summer; for at this time nature, as well
as Jim, was in a dream. Nuts were falling from the hickory-trees, and
squirrels were leaping along the ground, picking up the stores on which
they were to subsist during the long winter that lay before them. The
robins had gone away southward, and the voice of the thrushes was still.
A soft haze steeped the wilderness in its tender hue--a hue that carried
with it the fragrance of burning leaves. At some distant forest shrine,
the priestly winds were swinging their censers, and the whole temple was
pervaded with the breath of worship. Blue-jays were screaming among
leathern-leaved oaks, and the bluer kingfishers made their long diagonal
flights from side to side of the river, chattering like magpies. There
was one infallible sign that winter was close