h
they were printed; from these he would have advised her to select her
own designs, as she might have chosen from a medicine chest
sweet-smelling drops or sugar-coated pills of varying hue and
form--the result would doubtless he as satisfactory in one case as in
the other. Since she had not demanded it as an inalienable right he
gave her an opportunity to criticise and select, which she accepted by
no means unwillingly. As a rule, the designs were, in her opinion, too
elaborate and obtrusive. There were too many mouldings, there was too
much carving, and too evident a purpose to provide a finish that should
challenge attention by its extent or elegance. It would require too
much labor to keep it in order, and--it would cost too much. If she
could not have work that was truly artistic, and therefore enduringly
beautiful, whatever changes of fashion might occur, it was her wish to
keep all the essential part of the building and finish modestly in the
background, not attempting to make it ornamental, but relying upon the
furniture for whatever conspicuous ornament or decoration might be
desired. Nothing annoyed her more than an elegantly-finished house
scantily provided with shabby, incongruous and misapplied furniture.
The amiable concession of the architect came near causing a fatal
quarrel, as amiable concessions are apt to do, for he found it almost
impossible to satisfy Jill's taste in the direction of simplicity; he
seemed to feel that he was neglecting his duty if he gave her plain,
narrow bands of wood absolutely devoid of all design beyond a
designation of their width and thickness. Any carpenter's boy could
make such plans. "It would be worse," he wrote, "than prescribing bread
pills and 'herb drink' for a sick man." To which Jill replied in
substance that the needs of the patient are more important than
professional rules.

[Illustration: BITS OF CORNICES.]

Over the first great question, regarding the visible wood work of the
interior, Jack and Jill had held many protracted discussions: should
any of it be painted, or should all the wood be left to show its
natural graining and color? To the argument that unpainted wood is not
only "natural" but strictly genuine and more interesting than paint,
Jack replied that "natural" things are not always beautiful; that
paint, which makes no pretense of being anything but paint, is as
genuine as shellac or varnish, and that if the object is to be
interesting, the bark