he
basement up twenty feet to the level of the kitchen, store-rooms and
pantries as easily as they could be taken the usual distances
horizontally. In brief, a kitchen above the dining-room is at worst no
more 'inconvenient' than below it. Of course, there must be stairs even
in a one-story house, but they would not be in constant use. Instead of
living edgewise, so to speak, we should be spread out flatwise. We
could climb when we chose, but should not of necessity be forever
climbing. Yes, I like this plan exceedingly, not alone for its one
principal floor, but I have always had a fancy for the 'rotunda'
arrangement--one large central apartment for any and all purposes, out
of which the rooms for more special and private uses should open.
Indeed, I don't see how a very large house can be built in any other
way without leaving a considerable part of the interior as useless for
domestic as Central Africa is for political purposes. With _this_
arrangement the central keeping-room, lighted from above, may be as
large as a circus tent, and all the surrounding cells will be amply
supplied with light and air from the outside walls.

[Illustration: LOOKING TOWARD SUNSET.]

[Illustration: NEAR THE TURNING-POINT.]

"According to Aunt Melville's enthusiastic account, the construction of
the house is but little less than marvelous. 'The high walls of the
basement are built of those native, weather-stained and lichen-covered
boulders, the walls above being of a material hitherto unknown to
builders. You will scarcely believe it when I tell you they are nothing
else than the waste rubbish from brickyards, the rejected accumulations
of years--not by any means the unburned, but the overburned, the hard,
flinty, molten, misshapen and highly-colored masses of burned clay
which indeed refused to be consumed, but have been twisted into
shapeless blocks by the fervent heat. Of course, with such
unconventional materials for the main walls it would be a silly
affectation to embellish the exterior of the house with elaborate
mouldings or ornamental wood-work, and the visible details are
therefore plain to the verge of poverty. But as men of great genius can
disregard the trifling formalities of society, so there are no
architectural rules which this house is obliged to respect.'"

[Illustration: A CHOICE OF BALUSTERS.]

"That suits me perfectly," said Jack; "but I am amazed at Aunt
Melville. Never before did she make such a concession