Produced by Audrey Longhurst, Jeannie Howse and the Online Distributed Proofreading (https://www.pgdp.net), from images generously provided by the Hearth Library, Cornell University (http://hearth.library.cornell.edu/). THE HOUSE THAT JILL BUILT, AFTER JACK'S HAD PROVED A FAILURE. A BOOK ON HOME ARCHITECTURE, WITH ILLUSTRATIONS, BY E.C. GARDNER, _Author of "Homes and How to Make Them." "Home Interiors," "Common Sense in Church Building," etc._ SPRINGFIELD, MASS.: W.F. ADAMS COMPANY, 1896. 1882, BY OUR CONTINENT PUBLISHING Co. _All rights reserved._ E.C. GARDNER, 1895. Printed and Bound by CLARK W. BRYAN COMPANY, Springfield, Mass. CONTENTS. PAGE CHAPTER I. A WISE FATHER AND A GLAD SON-IN-LAW 7 CHAPTER II. MORAL SUASION FOR MALARIAL MARSHES 20 CHAPTER III. A FIRST VISIT AND SAGE ADVICE 32 CHAPTER IV. MANY FIRES MAKE SMALL DIVIDENDS 48 CHAPTER V. WHEN THE FLOODS BEAT AND THE RAINS DESCEND 63 CHAPTER VI. THE WISDOM OF JILL IN THE KITCHEN 78 CHAPTER VII BE HONEST AND KEEP WARM 90 CHAPTER VIII TRUTH, POETRY AND ROOFS 103 CHAPTER IX. PROFESSIONAL ETIQUETTE--BLINDS AND BESSIE 115 CHAPTER X. MORE QUESTIONS OF FIRE AND WATER 128 CHAPTER XI. WHAT SHALL WE STAND UPON? 140 CHAPTER XII. FROM MATHEMATICS TO ANCIENT BRIC-A-BRAC 151 CHAPTER XIII. ECONOMY, CLEANLINESS, AND HEALTH 166 CHAPTER XIV. SAFE FLUES AND MORE LIGHT 177 CHAPTER XV. A DANGEROUS RIVAL 189 CHAPTER XVI. A NEW WAY OF GETTING UP STAIRS AND A NEW MISSIONARY FIELD 203 CHAPTER XVII. THE RIGHT SIDE OF PAINT, A PROTEST AND A PROMISE 221 CHAPTER XVIII. THE HOUSE FINISHED AND THE HOME BEGUN 233 CHAPTER XIX. TEN YEARS AFTER 250 CHAPTER XX. A DOUBLE CONCLUSION 258 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. _From Drawings by the Author_. PAGE 1. "COUSIN GEORGE'S EXTERIOR" 11 2. COUSIN GEORGE'S FIRST FLOOR 14 3. COUSIN GEORGE'S SECOND FLOOR 15 4. "WARMTH IS BEAUTY" 21 5. A HIDDEN FOE 23 6. A BURIED GRIDIRON 24 7. THE PROTECTING "CUT-OFF" 25 8. A "CROSS-SECTION" PROPHECY 28 9. HEAT FROM ALL SIDES 30 10. AUNT MELVILLE'S AMBITION 33 11. NO PLACE FOR THE BED 36 12. ENLARGED BY DESTRUCTION 37 13. A SLIGHT ADDITION 39 14. GROUND FLOOR OF AUNT MELVILLE'S AMBITION 42 15. FIRST FLOOR OF AUNT MELVILLE'S AMBITION 43 16. A SECURE OUTLOOK 49 17. MINED AND COUNTERMINED 52 18. A DORMER OF BURNED CLAY 55 19. THE TOPMOST PEAK 59 20. WILL'S MASTERPIECE 65 21. THE FIRST FLOOR OF WILL'S MASTERPIECE 73 22. THE SECOND FLOOR OF WILL'S MASTERPIECE 75 23. THE OUTSIDE OF TED'S HOUSE 79 24. JILL'S KITCHEN IN BLACK AND WHITE 83 25. THE FIRST FLOOR OF TED'S HOUSE 88 26. THE POOR BUT MODEST ATTORNEY'S COTTAGE 91 27. A DOUBLE TEAM 94 28. WARMTH UNDER THE WINDOW 96 29. STEAM PIPES BESIDE THE FIREPLACE 97 30. THE ATTORNEY'S FLOOR PLAN 101 31. NO CONCEALMENT OR DISGUISE 105 32. WITH A MULLION AND WITHOUT 110 33. JACK'S ARCHITECTURAL PHRENOLOGY 112 34. THE HAT MAKES THE MAN 113 35. THE CONTRIBUTION OF BESSIE'S FATHER 117 36. THE FIRST FLOOR OF THE CONTRIBUTION 123 37. A GARGOYLE 130 38. A CHOICE OF GUTTERS 131 39. A SIMPLE RECESS 133 40. IN THE MIDDLE RANK 135 41. THE WORTH OF A COSY COTTAGE 137 42. A PROMISE OF SOCIAL SUCCESS 141 43. A REASONABLE HOPE 143 44. FLOORS AS THEY ARE: FLOORS AS THEY MIGHT BE 145 45. BRICKS AND BOULDERS ON GRANITE UNDERPINNING 149 46. NOT BRILLIANT, BUT IMPRESSIVE 153 47. WOODEN RICHNESS 155 48. NO WASTE OF WOOD 156 49. FIRST FLOOR OF THE PROMISE 158 50. SECOND FLOOR OF THE PROMISE 159 51. NO PLACE FOR SECRET FOES 167 52. SAFE AND SAVING FLUES 179-80 53. A PICTURE IN GLASS OVER THE FIREPLACE 181 54. GLASS OF MANY COLORS, SHAPES AND SIZES 183 55. SHELVES IN THE MIDDLE, CUPBOARDS ABOVE AND BELOW 185 56. "THE OAKS" 191 57. OUTSIDE BARRIERS 195 58. INSIDE BARRIERS 196 59. COMMON UGLINESS--SIMPLE GRACE 197 60. FIRST FLOOR PLAN OF "THE OAKS" 201 61. LOOKING TOWARD SUNSET 205 62. NEAR THE TURNING-POINT 207 63. A CHOICE OF BALUSTERS 209 64. THE BIG FIREPLACE IN THE KEEPING-ROOM 211 65. ONE WAY TO BEGIN 213 66. A BROADSIDE OF AN EASY ASCENT 215 67. A DIVIDING SCREEN AT THE FOOT OF THE STAIRS 219 68. BITS OF CORNICES 223 69. MOULDINGS FAIR TO SEE, BUT HARD TO KEEP CLEAN 225 70. FRAGMENTS OF ARCHITRAVES 227 71. A CHOICE OF WAINSCOTS 229 72. WOOD PANELS FOR WALLS AND CEILINGS, WITH IRREGULARITIES IN LEATHER, PAINT AND PAPER 231 73. THE HOUSE THAT JILL BUILT 235 74. THE FIRST FLOOR OF THE HOUSE THAT JILL BUILT 239 75. THE SECOND FLOOR OF THE HOUSE THAT JILL BUILT 241 76. THE EAST END OF JILL'S DINING-ROOM 243 77. A CASTLE IN SPAIN 263 _Also Initials, Tail-Pieces, etc._ INDEX OF SUBJECTS. PAGE BUILDING SITES 16 BRICKS 46, 53, 58 BLINDS 116 CHIMNEYS 179 CONTRACT WORK 233 COMPETITIVE PLANS 237 DOORS 194 FIREPROOF CONSTRUCTION 54 FALSE CHIMNEY-PIECE 98 FIREPLACES 134 FLOORS 140 FASHION 224 GUTTERS 129 HEATING 97, 132 HEIGHT OF ROOMS 138 HARD WOOD 197 INTERIOR FINISH 221 KITCHEN ARRANGEMENTS 81, 125 PLUMBING 166, 177 PANTRIES 186, 189 PAINT 223 ROOFS 69, 113 STAIRS 38, 214 STAINED GLASS 38, 183 TERRA COTTA 61 UNDER-DRAINING 24 VENTILATING FLUES 178 WINDOWS 110, 183 WOODEN BUILDINGS 51 PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION. On a recent visit to the young woman whose experiences and observations are contained in this book, I was greatly pleased to find her zeal and interest in domestic architecture unabated. She sees that there have been changes and improvements in the art of house building, but declares that while some of her opinions and suggestions of ten years ago have been approved and accepted, it is still true that by far the greater number of those who plan and build houses are guided by transient fashion, thoughtless conservatism and a silly seeking for sensational results, rather than by truth, simplicity and common sense. She has no doubt that her daughter, Bessie, will study and practice domestic architecture, and naturally expects the houses of the future to contain charms and comforts of which we have as yet only the faintest conception. E.C. GARDNER. _Springfield, Mass., November, 1895._ INTRODUCTION "MR. E.C. Gardner, architect, has consented to write us a series of articles upon house-building," said one of his associates to the editor of OUR CONTINENT a few months since. "What do you think of it?" "We have no sort of use for such a thing," replied the editor. "There are treatises enough professing to instruct people how to build houses. You can't make every man his own carpenter any more than you can make him his own lawyer. More's the pity." "But I thought you said you wanted some one who had sense enough to put a thoroughly capable and accomplished housewife's notions of what a house should be into readable prose?" "So I did," responded the editor, "and I still want it, and am likely to want it for a long time. I do not wish articles on _House_-building but on _Home_-building, and you will never get such from an architect." "Don't be too sure of that," said the other, who had had a taste of the writer's quality before. "Suppose he should wish to try it?" "Well,--let him," was the grumbled assent. The editor did not believe in architects. He had built one or two houses that did well enough on paper, but were simply appalling in their unfitness when he came to try to adapt the occupants to the earthly tabernacles which had been erected for their use and enjoyment. He had read house-building books, examined plans and discoursed with architects until he verily believed that the whole business was a snare and a delusion. After this experience he had settled down to the serious belief that the best way to build a house was to erect first a square building containing but one room, and then add on rooms as the occupants learned their needs or the family increased in numbers. In this way, he stoutly maintained, had been erected all those old houses, whose irregularity of outline and frequent surprises in interior arrangement never cease to charm. He asserted boldly that a man's house ought to grow around him like an oyster's-shell, and should fit him just as perfectly; in fact, that it should be created, not built. From architects and their works he prayed devoutly to be delivered, and having theretofore illustrated that part of the proverb which avers that "fools build houses," he declared himself determined thenceforth only to illustrate the latter-part of the proverb:--"and wise men live in them." Having, however, became sponsor in some sort for what Mr. Gardner might write, he was bound to give attention to it. Very much to his surprise, he found it instead of a thankless task, a most agreeable entertainment. Seldom, indeed, have wit and wisdom been so happily blended as in these pages. The narrative that runs through the whole constitutes a silver thread of merriment on which the pearls of sense are strung with lavish freedom. Every page is sure to contain the subject-matter for a hearty laugh close-linked with a lesson that may well be conned by the most serious-minded. The philosophy of home-building and home-improving is expounded with a subtlety of humor and an aptness of illustration as rare as they are relishable. There are three classes of people to whom this little volume with its quaint descriptions and wise suggestions will be peculiarly welcome. _First_--Those who contemplate, at some time, the building of a home. It matters not whether it is to be humble or palatial, "The House that Jill Built" will be found to contain not only the most valuable suggestions, but a humorous gaiety that will be sure to add pleasure to this duty. _Second_--Those who desire at any time to enlarge, modify or improve the homes in which they live; for they will find very forcibly illustrated in its pages the principles which should govern such modification. _Third_--Those who, like the writer hereof, have suffered in purse and comfort from the lack of such a pleasant and philosophical treatise, and who will be glad to see how their blunders might have been avoided. "The House that Jill Built" is founded on the rock of common sense. It does not profess to tell the prospective builder how to be his own architect and carpenter; it does not fit him out with a plan ready made and tested--by somebody else: but deftly and easily it leads him to think about the essential elements of the home he desires until, almost unconsciously, he finds himself prepared to give such directions to an honest architect as will secure for his home, convenience, safety and that peculiar fitness which is the chief element of beauty in domestic architecture. It is not so much for what is taught as for what is suggested that the book is valuable. What the author has written is perhaps not more remarkable than the peculiar art with which he compels the reader to think for himself. "The House that Jill Built" may fairly be said to take the first place among the many works that are designed to make our domestic architecture what it ought to be--the art by which the house-builder may erect a home adapted to his needs, commensurate with his means, in harmony with its surroundings and conducive to the health and comfort of its occupants. What the author's pen has so well described his pencil has illustrated with equal happiness. In penance for the lack of faith displayed at the outset and in hearty approval of the pages that follow, the Editor has written these words. A.W. TOURGÉE. PHILADELPHIA, Oct., 1882. THE HOUSE THAT JILL BUILT. CHAPTER I. A WISE FATHER AND A GLAD SON-IN-LAW. Among the wedding-presents was a small white envelope containing two smaller slips of paper. On one of these, which was folded around the other, was written, "A NEW HOUSE, FROM FATHER." The enclosed slip was a bank-check, duly stamped and endorsed. Did any old wizard's magic-box ever hold greater promise in smaller compass! Certainly not more than the bride saw in imagination as she read the figures upon the crisp bit of tissue. Walls, roof and stately chimneys arose in pleasant pictures before her mental vision. There were broad windows taking in floods of sunshine; fireplaces that glowed with living flames and never smoked; lazy lounging places and cosy corners for busy work or quiet study; sleepy bed-rooms; a kitchen that made housework the finest art and the surest science, and oh, such closets, such stairways, such comforts! such defiance of the elements, such security against cold and heat, against fire, flood and tempest! such economy! such immunity from all the ills that domestic life is heir to, from intractable servants to sewer-gas! If some ardent esthete had arrested her flight of fancy by asking whether she found room for soul-satisfying beauty, she would have dropped from her air-castle, landing squarely upon her feet, and replied that if her house was comfortable and told no lies it would be beautiful enough for her--which was saying a great deal, however interpreted, for she loved beauty, as all well-balanced mortals ought, and she would have been conspicuously out of place in a house that was not beautiful. Perhaps I ought to explain that the house that Jack built, intending to establish Jill as its mistress when it should be completed, had proved most unsatisfactory to that extremely practical young woman. In consequence, she had obstinately refused to name the happy day till the poor, patient fellow had kept bachelor's hall nearly a year. At last, in consideration of an unqualified permission to "make the house over" to any extent, the rough place that threatened to upset them was made smooth. Her father's present, wisely withheld till peace was declared, left nothing to be desired, and they started on their wedding journey as happy as if they owned the universe. This excursion, however, came near being a failure from the sentimental standpoint, because, wherever Jill discovered a house that gave any outward sign of inward grace, it must be visited and examined as to its internal arrangements. Naturally this struck Jack as an unromantic diversion, but he soon caught the spirit, and after much practice gave his salutatory address with apparent eagerness: "My wife and I happen to be passing through town and have been struck by the appearance of your house. Will you kindly allow us to have a glimpse of the interior?" The request was invariably granted, for nothing is more gratifying than the fame of having the "finest house in town." Unhappily the interiors were never satisfactory to Jill, and her valedictory to the owners of the striking houses seldom went beyond thanks for their courtesy. "We visited several houses on our trip," she observed to her father-- "Several hundred," said Jack-- "But were disappointed in them all. Many of them must have cost more than ours will cost, but the money seemed to us foolishly spent." "Yes," said her husband, "we concluded that the chief plank in the platform of the architects and builders was 'Millions for display--not one cent for comfort.'" "Well, Jack, we have learned one thing on our travels--where _not_ to look for the plans of our house." A box of letters from her dear five hundred friends awaited Jill's return, and a whole afternoon was devoted to them. Each letter contained some allusion to the new house. At least ten conveyed underscored advice of the most vital importance, which, if not followed, would demoralize the servants, distress her husband and ultimately destroy her domestic peace. Taken at a single dose, the counsel was confusing, to say the least; but Jill read it faithfully, laid it away for future reference, and gave the summary to her husband somewhat as follows: "It appears, Jack, my dear, to be absolutely indispensable to our future happiness that the house shall front north, south, east and west." "Let's build it on a pivot." "We must not have large halls to keep warm in cold weather, and we _must_ have large halls 'for style.' The stories must not be less than eleven nor more than nine feet high. It must be carpeted throughout and all the floors must be bare. It must be warmed by steam and hot water and furnaces and fireplaces and base-burners and coal grates." "We shan't have to go away from home to get into purgatory, shall we?" "Hush! The walls of the rooms must be calcimined, painted, frescoed and papered; they must be dyed in the mortar, finished with leather, with tiles, with tapestry and with solid wood panels. There must be blinds--outside blinds, awnings, inside shutters, rolling blinds, Venetian shades and no blinds at all. There must be wide, low-roofed piazzas all around the house, so that we can live out of doors in the summer, and on no account must the sun be excluded from the windows of the first story by piazza roofs. At least eight patent sanitary plumbing articles, and as many cooking ranges, are each the only one safe and fit to be used. The house must be high and low--" "I'm Jack and you shall be game--" [Illustration: COUSIN GEORGE'S EXTERIOR.] "It must be of bricks, wood and stone, separately and in combination; it must be Queen Anne, Gothic, French, Japanesque and classic American, and it must be painted all the colors of an autumn landscape." "Well, there's one comfort," said Jack; "you haven't paid for this advice, so you won't be obliged to take it in order to save it." "I should think not, indeed, but that isn't the trouble. These letters are from my special friends, wise, practical people, who know everything about building and housekeeping, and they speak from solemn conviction based on personal experience." "Moral: When the doctors differ, do as you please." Three of the letters, reserved for the last on account of their unusual bulk, contained actual plans. One was from an old school friend who had married an architect and couldn't afford to send a wedding present, but offered the plans as a sort of apology, privately feeling that they would be the most valuable of all the gifts; the second was from a married brother in Kansas who had just built himself a new house, and thought his sister could not do better than use the same plans, which he had "borrowed" from his architect; and the third was from Aunt Melville, who was supposed (by herself) to hold the family destiny in the hollow of her hand. "For once," she wrote, "your father has done a most sensible thing. Every girl ought to have a present of a new house on her wedding-day. You were very silly to make such a fuss about the house that Jack built, for it is a very stylish-looking house, even if it isn't quite so convenient inside; but of course you can improve upon it, and fortunately I can contribute just what you need--the plans of the house that your Uncle Melville built for George last year. It isn't as large as it ought to be, but it will suit you and Jack admirably. You must tell me how much you have to spend. This house can be very prettily built for eight or ten thousand dollars, and if you haven't as much as that you must ask for more. The hall is decidedly stylish, and, with the library at one side and drawing-room at the other, you will have just room enough for your little social parties. The room behind the drawing-room Jack needs for his private use, his study, office, smoking-room or whatever he calls it--a place to keep his gun, his top-boots, his fishing-rod and his horrid pipes; where he can revel to his heart's content in the hideous disorder of a 'man's room,' pile as much rubbish as he likes on the table, lock the doors and defy the rest of the household on house-cleaning days. The dining-room is good and the kitchen arrangements are perfect. George's wife has changed servants but three times since they began housekeeping, nearly a year ago, which certainly proves that there is every possible convenience for doing work easily. The outside of the house is not wholly satisfactory. There should be a tower, and you must put one on somewhere." [Illustration: COUSIN GEORGE'S FIRST FLOOR.] [Illustration: COUSIN GEORGE'S SECOND FLOOR.] Then followed several pages of advice about furnishings and a postscript announced that Colonel Livingston was charmed with the house and would probably build one like it for Clara. The charm of Aunt Melville's advice lay in its abundant variety. It was new every morning and fresh every evening. The latest thing was always the best. The plans of to-morrow were certain to be better than those of yesterday. Jill therefore made a careful study of the first installment, not doubting that others of superior merit would be forthcoming. She found many things to approve. The hall promised comfort and good cheer, whether stylish or not. The vista across through the parlor bay and the wide library window would give a pleasant freedom and breadth. The stairs were well placed, the second landing with its window of stained glass being especially attractive, whether as a point of observation or as a cosy retreat, itself partly visible from the hall below. Every chamber had a closet of its own, not to mention several extra ones, and there was a place for every bed. "As for your sanctum, Jack, I don't at all approve. It will be hard enough, I've no doubt, to keep you from lapsing into barbarism, and I shall never allow you to set up a den, a regular Bluebeard's room, all by yourself. I promise never to put your table in order, but I wouldn't trust the best of men with the care of a closet or a bureau-drawer for a single week, much less of an entire room with two closets, a case of drawers, a cupboard and a chimney-piece. But the chief fault of the plan is that it doesn't happen to suit our lot. The entrances are not right, the outlooks are not right, the chimneys are not right." "Turn it around." "And spoil it? No; I learned a second lesson on our journey, and it was well worth what it cost. We shall never find a plan made for somebody else that will suit us." "Not good enough?" "It isn't a question of goodness--it's a question of fitness. Neither Cousin George's, nor any other house I ever saw, is precisely what we need." "Moral: Draw your own plans." "We must, and we'll begin to-morrow." "Why not this evening?" "We couldn't see." "Light the gas." "Oh, but we must make the plans out of doors on the lot. We shall then know where every room will be, every door and especially every window. We must fix the centre of the sitting-room in the most commanding situation, and be certain that the dining-room windows do not look straight into somebody's wood-shed. Then, if there are any views of blue hills and forests far away over the river, I shall be uncomfortable if we do not get the full benefit of them." "Don't you expect to have anything interesting inside the house?" "Except my husband? Oh yes! but it would be a wicked waste of opportunities not to accept the blessings provided for us without money and without price, which only require us to stand in the right places and open our hearts and windows to receive them." Jill's second lesson was indeed worth learning, even if it cost a wedding journey. Every house must suit its own ground and fit its own household, otherwise it can neither be comfortable nor beautiful. The next morning, armed with a bundle of laths, sharpened at one end, and equipped with paper, pencil and tape-line, the prospective house-builders proceeded to lay out, not the house but the plan. They planted doors, windows, fireplaces and closets, stoves, lounges, easy-chairs and bedsteads, as if they were so many seeds that would grow up beside the laths on which their respective names were written and bear fruit each according to its kind. Later in the day a high step-ladder was introduced, from the top of which Jill scanned the surrounding country, while Jack stood ready to catch her if she fell. The neighbors were intensely interested, and their curiosity was mixed with indignation when, toward night, a man was discovered cutting down two of the rock-maple trees that Jill's grandfather planted more than fifty years before, and which stood entirely beyond any possible location of the new house. "This evening, Jack, you must write for the architect to come." "I thought you were going to make your own plans." "I have made them, or rather I have laid them out on the ground and in the air. I know what I want and how I want it. Now we must have every particular set down in black and white." Jack wrote accordingly. The architect was too busy to respond at once in person, but sent a letter referring to certain principles that reach somewhat below the lowest foundation-stones and above the tops of the tallest chimneys. [Illustration] CHAPTER II. MORAL SUASION FOR MALARIAL MARSHES. "You are quite right," the architect wrote, "to fix the plan of your house on the lot before it is made on paper, provided first the lot is a good one. Nothing shows the innate perversity of mankind more forcibly than the average character of the sites chosen for human habitations in cities, in villages and in the open country. Or does it rather indicate the instinctive struggle for supremacy over nature? The 'dear old nurse' is most peaceably inclined toward us, yet we shall never be satisfied till all the valleys are exalted and the hills laid low. Not because we object to hills and valleys--quite the contrary; but we must show our strength and daring. Nobody wants the North Pole, but we are furious to have a breach made in the wall that surrounds it. If we discover a mighty primeval forest we straightway grind our axes to cut it down; an open prairie we plant with trees. When we find ourselves in an unclean, malarious bog, instead of taking the short cut out, shaking the mud from our feet and keeping clear of it forever after, we plunge in deeper still and swear by all the bones of our ancestors that we will not only walk through it dry-shod, but will build our homes in the midst of it and keep them clean and sweet and dry. The good mother beckons to us with her sunshine and whispers with her fragrant breezes that on the other side of the river or across the bay the land is high and dry, that just beyond the bluffs are the sunny slopes where she expected us to build our houses, and, like saucy children as we are, we say that is the very reason we prefer to go somewhere else. [Illustration: WARMTH IS BEAUTY.] [Illustration: A HIDDEN FOE.] "Now, if the particular spot of earth on which you expect to set up the temple of your home is not well adapted to that sacred purpose, think a bit before you commence digging. If it is low, wet and difficult of drainage; if the surface water or the drains from adjacent lands have no outlet except across it; if its size and shape compel your house to stand so near your neighbor on the south that he takes all the sunshine and gives you the odors of his dinner and the conversation of his cook in exchange; if there are no pleasant outlooks; if it is shaded by trees owned by somebody who will not be persuaded to cut them down for love nor money--by all means turn it into a fish-pond, a sheep-pasture or a public park. You can never build upon it a satisfactory home. Perhaps it is within five minutes' walk of the post-office and on the same street with Mrs. Adoniram Brown, and these considerations outweigh all others. In that case there is no help for you. You must make the best of it as it is. [Illustration: A BURIED GRIDIRON.] "If you have a suspicion that the ground is naturally wet, that it contains hidden springs or conceals an impervious basin, making in effect a pool of standing water underground, the first necessity is a clean outlet--not a sewer--low enough to underdrain the lot at least a foot and a-half below the bottom of the cellar. Having found the clean outlet, lay small drain tiles, two or three inches in diameter, under the entire house and for several feet all around it, like a big gridiron. When this is buried under one or two feet of clean gravel or sand you will have a permanently dry plot of ground to build upon. The same treatment will be effective if the ground is "springy." But there must be a "cut-off" encircling the house. This you can make by digging a trench a foot wide, reaching down to the drain tiles, and filling it nearly to the top with loose stones or coarse gravel, the surface of the ground being graded to slope sharply toward the trench. The surface water between it and the house, and any moisture creeping toward the house from without, will then be caught in this porous trap and fall to the gridiron. [Illustration: THE PROTECTING "CUT-OFF."] "It is possible, theoretically, to build an underground cellar so tight that it may be lifted up on posts and used for a water-tank, or set afloat like a compartment-built iron steamer. Such walls may be necessary under certain circumstances. They may be necessary for cellars that are founded in swamps, in salt marshes below the level of the sea, and in old river-beds, where the original iniquity of the standing water is made still more iniquitous by the inevitable foulness of the washing from streets and the unclean refuse from sinks and back doors. But for buildings that have four independent walls, with room enough for a man to ride around his own house in a wheelbarrow without trespassing on his neighbors, and which are not hopelessly depressed below all their surroundings, it is better to use a little moral suasion on the land itself than to spend one's resources in a defiant water-proof construction. Instead of drain tiles, small stones covered with a thin layer of hay or straw before being buried in the sand may be used if more economical. "If you cannot find the clean outlet for these buried drains or tiles below the level of the cellar bottom, then raise the cellar, house and all. No matter if you are accused of having a 'stuck up' house--better be stuck up than stuck in the mud. Raise it till the entire cellar is well above the level of thorough drainage. If this happens to carry it above the surface of the ground, set the house on posts and hang the cellar under the floor like a work-bag under a table or the basket to a balloon. "The foundation walls must indeed touch solid bottom and extend below the action of frost; but if the wall above the gridiron and below the paving of the cellar is of hard stones, or very hard bricks laid in cement, there will be little risk from rising moisture. "After all, the chief danger is not from underground springs, from clean surface water or an occasional rising of the floods, but from the unclean wastes that in our present half-civilized state are constantly going out of our homes to poison and pollute the earth and air around them." "Half-civilized indeed!" said Jack, interrupting the reading of the letter. "Besides, he is premature as well as impertinent. He doesn't know but the house will stand on a granite boulder." "I suppose he intends to warn us, and I am not certain that our lot is as dry as it ought to be. At all events we will have some holes dug in different places and see if any water comes into them." "Of course it will. Haven't we just had the 'equinoctial'? The ground is full of water everywhere." "If it is full this spring it will be full every spring. We may as well order the drain tiles." "It shall be done," said Jack. "Now let us have the second proviso. I hope it will be shorter than the first." "And, secondly," Jill continued reading, "provided you know what your house is for. It is my conviction that of all the people who carefully plan and laboriously build themselves houses, scarcely one in ten could give a radical, intelligent reason for building them. To live in, of course; but how to live is the question, and why. As they have been in the habit of living? As their neighbors live? As they would like to live? As they ought to live? Is domestic comfort and well-being the chief motive? It is not, usually; hence, there are in the world a great many more houses than homes." "Oh, bother the preaching! It's all true, but we don't happen to need it. When is he coming?" "Next week, and he hopes we shall have 'some general idea of what we want.' How very condescending! We know precisely what we want, as I can easily show him." [Illustration: A "CROSS-SECTION" PROPHECY.] Jill accordingly produced a fresh sheet of "cross-section" paper, on whose double plaid lines the most helpless tyro in drawing can make a plan with mathematical accuracy provided he can count ten, and on this began to draw the plan of the first floor, expounding as she drew. "If we call the side of the house which is next the street the front, the main entrance must be at the east side, because we need the whole of the south side for our living rooms. You know the view toward the southwest is the finest we shall have, especially from the chambers." "How do I know? I didn't climb the step-ladder." "And we must have a large bay window directly on that corner. The hall must run through the house crosswise, with the stairs on the west side of the house. As there is nothing to be seen in this direction except the white walls and green blinds of the parsonage, the windows on the stair-landing shall have stained glass. The dining-room will be at the north side of the hall, with plenty of eastern windows, and behind that the kitchen with windows at opposite sides. But you wouldn't understand the beauty of my kitchen arrangements now. By-and-by, when you are wiser, I will explain them. Do you like a fireplace in the hall, Jack?" "I don't know as I do. Do you?" "Of course! certainly." "I shall be of all men most miserable without one. Can't we have two?" "Perhaps so; but first let me read you Cousin Bessie's letter: MY DEAREST JILL: I'm perfectly delighted to hear about the new house. It will be an immense success. I _know_ it will--you are so wise and so _practical_. How I _shall_ enjoy visiting you! It is delightful to build houses now. Everybody thinks so much more of the beautiful than they used to. Some of my friends have the _loveliest_ rooms. The tones are _so_ harmonious, the decorations so _exquisite_! Such sympathetic feeling and spiritual unity! I _wish_ you could see Kitty Kane's hall. It isn't bigger than a bandbox, but there's the _cunningest_ little fireplace in one corner, with real antique andirons and the quaintest old Dutch tiles. They never make a fire in it; couldn't if they wanted to--it smokes so. But it is _so_ lovely and gives the hall such a sweet expression. You _will_ forgive me, won't you, Jill, dear? but you know you are _so_ practical, and I _do_ hope you won't forget the esthetic needs of home life. Your loving cousin, BET." "Let's give up the hall fireplace," said Jack. [Illustration: HEAT FROM ALL SIDES.] "By no means; our hall is large and needs a fireplace--one that will not smoke and will warm not only the hall in very cold weather, but the whole house when it isn't quite cold enough for steam. The sides and back will be of iron with an air-chamber behind them, into which fresh air will be brought from out of doors and come out well warmed at the sides." (Jill's idea was something like the above figure for the plan.) "It will be a capital ventilator, too, for the centre of the house. There will be a damper in the hearth to let the ashes down into the ash-pit. I suppose a stove would answer, but this will be better because it won't have to be blacked, and it will last as long as the house." "How will it look standing out there all alone by itself?" "Haven't I told you, my dear, that whatever _is_ well looks well?" "Yes, but it takes a mighty faith to believe it, and I'm not even a mustard-seed. What is the little room in the southwest corner for?" "That is the library, and for an ordinary family it is large enough. It is twelve feet by fourteen. It will hold three or four thousand books, a table, a writing-desk, a lounge and three or four easy chairs. More room would spoil the privacy which belongs to a library and make it a sort of common sitting-room. Moreover, by drawing aside the portières and opening the doors we can make it a part of the large room when we wish to; and, on the other hand, when they are closed and the bay window curtains drawn, instead of one large room we shall have three separate apartments for three solitary misanthropes, for three _tête-a-têtes_, or for three incompatible groups, not counting the hall--no, nor the stair-landing, which will be a capital place for a quiet--" "Flirtation." At this point they were interrupted by a telegram from Aunt Melville, begging them not to begin on George's plan, as she had found something much more satisfactory. CHAPTER III. A FIRST VISIT AND SAGE ADVICE. They didn't begin to build, from Cousin George's nor from any other plan, for many weeks. Until the new house should be completed, Jill had agreed to commence housekeeping in the house that Jack built, without making any alterations in it, only reserving the privilege of finding all the fault she pleased to Jack privately, in order, as she said, to convince him that it would be impossible for them to be permanently happy in such a house. "I supposed," said Jack, with a groan, "that my company would make you blissfully happy in a cave or a dug-out." "So it would, if we were bears--both of us. As we are sufficiently civilized, taken together, to prefer artificial dwellings, it will be much better for us to find out what we really need in a home by actual experiment for a year or two. You know everybody who builds one house for himself always wishes he could build another to correct the mistakes of the first." "Yes, and when he has done it probably finds worse blunders in the second. Still, I'm open to conviction, and after our late architectural tour perhaps my house won't seem in comparison so totally depraved." [Illustration: AUNT MELVILLE'S AMBITION.] When they visited it, preparatory to setting up their household gods--Jack's bachelor arrangements being quite inadequate to the new order of things--Jack, with a flourish, threw the highly ornamental front door wide open. Jill walked solemnly in, and, looking neither to the right nor the left, went straight up stairs. "Hello!" Jack called after her, "what are you going up stairs for?" "I supposed you expected everybody to go to the second floor," said Jill, looking over the bannister, "or you wouldn't have set the stairs directly across the front entrance." "I do, of course," Jack responded, following three steps at a time. "And now will you please signify your royal pleasure as to apartments?" "Oh, yes! The first requisite is a room with at least one south window." "Here it is. A southerly window and a cloudy sky--two windows, in fact. And look here: see what a glorious closet. It goes clear up to the ceiling." "It isn't a closet at all; only a little cupboard. It wouldn't hold one-half of your clothes nor a tenth part of mine. And there's no fireplace in the room--not even a hole for a stovepipe." "Furnace, my dear. We shall be warmed from the regions below. There's the register." "I see. But where shall the bed stand? On these two sides it would come directly in front of a window; on this side there isn't room between the two doors; on that, there's the 'set bowl'--I hate 'set bowls'--and the furnace register in the floor." [Illustration: NO PLACE FOR THE BED.] "That's so. I never had any bed in this room. Try the dining-room chamber; that has a south window. The bed can stand on the north side and the dressing table over in the other corner." "Yes, in the dark, with a window behind my back. Oh! Jack, why didn't you get a wife before you planned your house?" "I did try." "You did! You never mentioned it to me before. What is this little room for?" "Why, nothing in particular. It came so, I suppose--part of the hall, you know; but it wouldn't be of any use in the hall, so I made a room of it. It will hold a cot bed if we should happen to have a house full of company." "It will never be needed for that with three other guest rooms; but I see what can be done. You know I promised not to make any alterations; but destruction isn't alteration, and as this little room is beside the front chamber, with only the little cupboards between, a part of the partition between the rooms can be destroyed. There will be no need of a door; a portière will be better, and I can use the small room for a dressing-room and closet. So _that_ is nicely arranged; and while you are marking where the partition is to be cut away I will explore the first story." [Illustration: ENLARGED BY DESTRUCTION.] Now, the stairs were built in a very common fashion, having a sharp turn at the top, which made the steps near the balustrade exceedingly steep and narrow. Jill's foot slipped on the top step and down she went, feet foremost, never stopping till she reached the hall floor below. Jack, hearing the commotion, ran to the rescue, caught his foot in the carpet and came tumbling after, with twice as much noise and not half as much grace. Happily the staircase was well padded under the carpet, and finding Jill unhurt as well as himself, Jack helped her to rise and coolly remarked: "You certainly can't find any fault with the stairs, Jill, dear. If there had been one of those square landings midway it would have taken twice as long to come down. I--I had them made so on purpose. Will you walk into my parlor?" They went in and sat down in easy-chairs. "I suppose," said Jill, "that our native land contains 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 and sixty-five times as well. Now, if you are rested, we will go and see if the architect has come." He had not arrived, but they found a ponderous package of plans from Aunt Melville, with an explanatory note, a letter from Cousin Bessie admonishing Jill that her new home ought to be "a perfect poem, pervaded and perfumed by a rare feeling of tender longing and homely aspiration," and another from her father's oldest sister. [Illustration: GROUND FLOOR OF AUNT MELVILLE'S AMBITION.] [Illustration: FIRST FLOOR OF AUNT MELVILLE'S AMBITION.] "For fifty years," Aunt Jerusha wrote, "I have lived in what would now be called an old-fashioned house, though it was new enough when I came to it, and I always think of the Scripture saying when I hear about the many inventions that men have sought out and are putting into houses now-a-days. The danger is not so much from the inventions themselves as from what they lead to. They promise great things, but I've learned to be suspicious of anything or anybody that makes large promises. I've learned, too, that realities sometimes go by contraries as well as dreams. The poorest folks are often the richest, and the greatest saving often turns out to be the greatest waste. Air-tight stoves saved the wood-pile, but they gave us colds and headaches. So your uncle put them away and we went back to the fireplaces. Then came the hot-air furnaces, which seemed so much less trouble than open fires, but taking care of the open fires wasn't half so troublesome as taking care of sick folks; and the same thing we learned to our bitter cost of the plumbing pipes that creep around like venomous serpents and promise to save so many steps. Perhaps they do, but it seems to me that much of our vaunted labor-saving is at best only a transfer. We work all the harder at something else or compel others to work for us. When I began housekeeping I had no difficulty in taking care of my large house without any help, nor in caring for my family while it was small. Yet I hadn't a single modern invention or labor-saving machine, I have had a great many since and have tried a great many more. When I find one that helps in the work that _must_ be done I am glad to keep it. If it merely does something new--something I had never done before--I keep the old way. Multiplying wants may be a means of grace to the half-civilized, but our danger lies in the other direction: we have too many wants already. And this is what I sat down to say to you, my dear child: Don't make housekeeping such a complex affair that you must
{'title': "The House That Jill Built, after Jack's Had Proved a Failure by E. C. Gardner", 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}