about a million
houses with stairs like these and just such halls--if people will
persist in calling them 'halls,' when they are only little narrow,
dark, uncomfortable entries. If we were going to make any alterations
in this house--which we are not, only destructions--- I should take
these out, cut them in two in the middle, double them up, straighten
the crook at the top and shove them outside the house, letting the main
roof drop down to cover them. Then I would make a large landing at the
turn, large enough for a wide seat, a few book shelves and a pretty
window. This could be of stained glass, unless the view outside is more
interesting than the window itself. The merit of a stained-glass
window," Jill observed, very wisely, "is that the sunlight makes a
beautiful picture of it inside the house during the day, and the same
thing, still more beautiful, is thrown out into the world by the
evening lamps, and the darker the night the brighter the picture. After
the stairs were moved out, the little hall, if joined by a wide
doorway, to the room we are now in would become of some value. There is
no grate in this room, and a chimney might be built in the outer wall,
with a fireplace opposite the wide doorway. Then, taken all together,
we should have a very pretty sitting-room. I shouldn't call that an
alteration--should you, Jack?--only an addition."

[Illustration: A SLIGHT ADDITION.]

"Certainly not. Tearing down partitions, taking out plumbing, building
a few chimneys, moving stairways, and such little things, can't be
called 'alterations'--oh, no."

"And the house will be worth so much more when you come to sell it."

"Of course. But why do you call this a 'sitting-room?' It wouldn't be
possible to sell a house that has no parlor; besides this is marked
'parlor' on the plan."

"I prefer the spirit of the plan to the letter of it. This is the
pleasantest room--almost the only pleasant room on this floor. It is
sunny and convenient, it looks out upon the street and across the lawn,
and whatever it is labeled it will _be_ our common every-day
sitting-room. For similar reasons we will take the chamber over it for
our own room."

"What becomes of our hospitality if we keep the best for ourselves?"

"What becomes of our common sense if we make ourselves uncomfortable
the year round in order to make a guest a little less uncomfortable
over night. I try to love my neighbor as myself; I can't love him three
hundred