be right, whatever it costs."

And herein Jill displayed her good sense. It is, indeed, a mistake to
build a house beyond the possibility of paying for it, or of
maintaining it without a constant struggle, but in building a permanent
home there is more likely to be lasting regret through too close
economy in the first outlay, than through extravagance--regret that can
only be cured by an outlay far exceeding what the original cost would
have been.

The architect came as the sun went down, and, after being duly warmed,
fed and cheered, was informed by Jill that all she expected from him
that evening was an explanation of the respective merits of wood and
brick houses. Jack begged the privilege of taking notes, to keep
himself awake, Jill begged the architect to be as brief as possible,
and the architect begged for a small blackboard and a piece of chalk,
that he might, in conveying his ideas, use the only one, true, natural
and universal language which requires no grammar, dictionary or
interpreter.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER IV.

MANY FIRES MAKE SMALL DIVIDENDS.

There are two things belonging to modern civilization," the architect
began, "that fill me with amazement. This morning, at the usual hour, I
sat at my own breakfast table. During the day I have been reading and
writing, eating, drinking and making merry with pleasant acquaintances,
old and new. I have observed the architecture of a dozen cities and a
hundred villages and have seen landscapes without number. I have been
occupying an elegantly finished and furnished drawing-room all the
time, with every possible comfort and convenience at hand, and now am
sitting at your fireside, two hundred and fifty miles from home. I have
just assured the girl I left behind me of my safe arrival, and have
listened to her grateful reply. With my ten thousand companions going
in the same direction I have met ten thousand others crossing and
recrossing our path, every one of whom was as safe and comfortable as
ourselves, every one of whom knew the hour and the minute at which he
would reach his destination. To an observer above the clouds our
pathways would appear more frail than the finest gossamer; and the most
daring engineer that ever lived, seeing for the first time our mode of
travel, would stake his reputation that we were rushing to
inevitable destruction. Yet every foot of our way has been so guarded
that not one of these swiftly-moving palaces has swerve