The House that Jill Built by E. C. Gardner

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"Oh, I see. An imitation Pompeian, or Florentine palace."

"No, nothing of the kind. Not an imitation of anything. It will be a
simple, straightforward, common-sense, American home, with room for a
good-sized family, several rooms for extra occasions, and some that
will not be finished at all but held in reserve for future
contingencies. It sometimes costs no more to enclose a certain space in
building than to leave it outside, and there is the same satisfaction
in knowing we have space to spare inside the house that there is in
owning the land that joins us even when we don't expect to sell or use
it."

"What shall we do with the big hole in the center? It will be too small
for golf or tennis, and too big for a conservatory. We might keep
hens."

"It will not be too large for a garden, with fountains for hot weather
and flowers for cold. It will be its own excuse for being, for it will
give light and air to all the rooms, and if it has a glass roof the
problem of comfortable living in cold weather will be solved. There
will always be the temperate zone at one side of the house,--that is
inside the court,--however high the drifts may be piled outside. Of
course the entire building will be warmed in winter and cooled in
summer by spicy breezes driven by electric fans, and we shall only have
to decide what temperature we prefer on different days of the week, set
the gauge, and there will be no more watching of the thermometer, the
registers, the weather reports or the wood pile."

"But I thought it was wrong to live in a river of warm air. Uncle John
compares that to taking a perpetual warm bath."

"It is wrong; but, my dear Jack, life is a succession of compromises,
especially domestic life, and considering the practical difficulties in
the way of open hickory fires in all the forty or more rooms, we must
be content with the artificially warmed air for every day use and
consider radiated heat from wood fires, coal grates, or sunshine, as
luxuries."

"Certainly; it would be a pity to make all luxuries impossible just
because we happen to own a castle in Spain. Aren't you afraid our court
will be dreadfully hot in summer, shut in by four brick walls?"

"By no means; it will be particularly cool. If we like we can have a
great awning to draw over it in the hottest weather, and wide halls
will allow a perfect circulation of air throughout the whole structure.
In addition to this, on the highest part of the roof there will be a
space fitted for an outdoor sitting room, sheltered when necessary by
awnings and screens, but most delightful on hot summer evenings."

"Oh, yes, I see. A sort of copy of the old Egyptian houses."

"No, not a sort of a copy of anything, but a simple application of
common sense. In the evening when there is a breeze from any direction,
the highest part of the house will be the coolest."

"I thought it was to be a two-story house. How can one part be higher
than the rest?"

"I didn't say it was to be all of the same height. Some rooms will be
much higher than others because they will be larger. If a room is to be
of agreeable proportions, the height must be determined by the size. It
may be best to make the north side three stories high and the south
only one; that would give more sunlight on the north wall of the court
and make the average two stories."

"Nothing like keeping up the average. But aren't forty rooms with all
the closets and storerooms, and stairways and halls, and bays and
oriels and dungeons going to make a large house for one family? Can't
we work the same idea on a smaller scale?"

"Of course, but that is not too large for a comfortable home for a
family of moderate size. Count your fingers and try it. To begin at
that end of the establishment, we want a scullery, a kitchen, and a
servants' dining room; we want a breakfast room, and a large dining
room for the family, and the dining room, by the way, should be one of
the largest rooms in the house, say twenty-one or two feet by thirty
six or forty; we want a parlor, a drawing room, a library, a
billiard room and a picture gallery; a music room and ball room, these
being, of course, in one, but as large as two ordinary rooms; then we
want a nursery, a workroom for the children, a sick room and a sewing
room, an office and a smoking room, and one or two extra sitting or
reception rooms. Each member of the family should have a private
sitting room and bedroom, with dressing room and bath for each suite.
That, you see, would just about suit a family of ten people without
counting the servants."

[Illustration: A CASTLE IN SPAIN.]

"Have you made any calculation Jill, dear, as to how many people there
are at present in the United States who could manage to scrape along
with thirty-nine rooms instead of forty?"

"Why should I? This is a castle in Spain. We have plenty of money,
plenty of room, plenty of time. Our only anxiety is lest there should
be a lack of brains to make good use of our room and time and money."

"And what shall we build it of, jasper, sapphire and chalcedony?"

"No, burned clay and granite, steel, copper and glass. It shall be
defiant of fire and flood; it shall neither burn up nor rot down."

"One thing more, Jill, when we come to make our wills to which one of
the children shall we bequeath the castle?"

Before Jill could answer the door was hurriedly opened and Bessie
appeared upon the threshold.

"I've just run away from Jim," she began rapidly. "We haven't had a
family quarrel exactly, but we've argued it over and over, and we come
out just as far apart as ever. Finally I told him I would leave it to
you."

"I haven't any idea what it is all about, but did Jim agree to that?"

"I didn't give him a chance to differ. He always agrees to everything
Jill says about building houses But don't interrupt me. The baby may
wake up at any minute and then Jim will be helpless. The truth is he is
dissatisfied with our home."

"Jim, dissatisfied; impossible!"

"Yes, he thinks it's too small."

"He wants more servants, I suppose; several additional children, a lot
more poor relations, and all the various items that go to make up a
well-ordered household."

"No, no; it is the house that is too small."

"Excuse me, you said the home. The house is a very different affair."

"You remember," Bessie continued, "that when it was built ten years ago
Jim thought it was not large enough. Now he is determined to sell it
and build a new one. There are five good rooms besides the closets, and
as there is nobody but Jim and me and the four children and one
servant, we have all the room we need. We have always been perfectly
comfortable, and I can't bear the thought of selling our home."

Here Bessie began to show symptoms of dissolution, but swallowing her
emotion she continued, "If we could build on a room or two as we need
them I wouldn't mind it. But if you advise us to sell this house for
the sake of having another, I'll"--

"We shan't advise any such thing," said Jack, "but it's perfectly
natural for Jim to think you ought to have a larger, more modern
house."

"But I don't want a more modern house," Bessie protested, "if there is
any created thing that I despise it is a 'modern' house, made up of bay
windows and crooked turrets, and shingled balconies, and peaked roofs,
and grotesque little fandangoes of wood and copper and terra cotta,
that have no more dignity or repose, or beauty or homelike appearance,
than a crazy quilt or a Chinese puzzle. They are simply outrageous,
abominable. I would sooner have the children brought up in a reform
school or a house of correction."

"How would you like a colonial house?"

Bessie's indignation had spent itself, and she resumed her ordinary,
but sometimes misleading manner.

"Isn't it a pity we were not all born a hundred years ago, then we
might have had colonial houses. But why should I want to live in an
uncomfortable old curiosity shop when I like my house just as it is?
Our trouble is that Jim wants the house twice as large as it is now and
I want only one more room."

"Bessie," said Jack, in his most fatherly manner, "I am surprised that
two sensible people like you and Jim should fall into such a
distressing controversy over nothing, absolutely nothing. You are
already in perfect accord. Jim says the house is only half large
enough. You say you want one more room. The house is now just
thirty-three feet long and thirty-three feet wide; add a new room
thirty-three feet square; you will have the one extra room, and Jim
will have the house doubled in size. Isn't that right?"

"Yes," said Jill; "It is exactly what I should have suggested if you
had given me a chance. Do you remember the charming room in the old
Florentine palace, where we spent the winter, and how we enjoyed it,
and finally measured it for the benefit of some other Americans who
intended to build a new house as soon as they got home? That was just
thirty-three feet square and eighteen feet high. There was a grand
piano in one corner, in another a group of chairs with bookcases, in
another sofas and chairs and tables scattered about, so that in effect
it was equal to several small rooms. Indeed one of our party described
it in a home letter as a magnificent apartment one hundred feet each
way. It would accommodate several callers, with their different groups
of friends, and it was of course a capital place for music and dancing.
In your new room you will have one corner for the children and another
for yourselves. The Dorcas society can meet at one side while your
little Jack and his friends are playing games at the other. It won't be
many years before Bessie will claim a large section, including one of
the bay windows, for her own use."

"I think I hear the baby crying. Thank you, I'll talk it over with Jim.
Good night."

"Do you think they will do it?" Jack inquired.

"Of course they will; it is by far the most sensible thing. As a family
they are always together and always will be, and one large room will
suit them better than several small ones. Perhaps it will be the best
thing for us, until we can build our castle in Spain. It certainly will
not cost as much as making over and enlarging the rooms we have."

"That is true, and it is my impression that the wisest way to enlarge
an old house is to nail up the windows, seal up the doors and go ahead
with the additions without taking out the nails or breaking the seals
till it is all done; that would save time, money and patience."

"Yes, and more than that," said Jill, "it would preserve the charm of
the old house which grows stronger every year until the loss of the
familiar rooms and their hallowed associations seems like parting with
a dear old friend."

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