The house, as before described, was built of good-sized boxes, neatly put together with narrow cleats to hide the joinings, and the whole was painted a delicate gray, only the sloping roof being moss green. John had covered this roof with tiny shingles, and the effect of the whole was extremely attractive. It was divided in the middle by a broad hall, at the back of which was a wide stairway. John had rather demurred at the stairway, foreseeing that the making of it would be a troublesome piece of business. But Sally had stoutly insisted thereon, for how on earth could a doll descend from upper stories to lower without stairs? She would be forced to hurl herself out of the front windows,—called so by compliment since the whole front of the house stood open in one generous space—a proceeding extremely detrimental to china limbs. Sally was a matter-of-fact little soul, albeit she possessed a brilliant imagination. But she certainly builded better than she knew when she insisted on that staircase. John, as usual, gave in and the stairs became an accomplished fact.
The lower floor of the Walking House consisted of a spacious dining-room on one side of the hall and a kitchen and laundry on the other. On the next floor were the drawing-room, library and music-room. On the third floor were three bed-rooms and a bath-room, and above all, the attic.
On one side of the house and running across the front on the lower floor, John had built a veranda, on which a doll might enjoy coolness and comfort on the hottest of days, while all the way up the other side ran a tiny fire-escape, which finally disappeared in a scuttle in the sloping roof.
Bob, just then much interested in electricity, wired the whole house and connected it with the electric light chandelier which hung above it, so that every room was brilliantly lighted with electricity, and an electric bell at the front door gave notice whenever a friendly doll dropped in for afternoon tea.
Sally’s one regret was that there was no cellar. The child had dreamed of a wee furnace and a fruit closet filled with jars of jam and jelly put up over a tiny electric stove. But the stove had been utterly impracticable, John had declared that it would be impossible to dig down through the floor of the room for the cellar, and practical nurse had pointed out the fact that nowhere could one find preserve jars tiny enough for the purpose. So Sally had given up the project, not without a sigh however. She had very, very realistic ideas, had Sally.
One of her pet projects, confided to her governess, Miss Palmer, not without misgivings, had been to build a revolving house, one that could be “swung around” as the child, knowing nothing of pivots, had expressed it. This idea she had conceived to be applied not only to doll houses, but to real dwellings.
“You could always have the sunshine wherever you wanted it,” she had explained. “And wouldn’t it be fine to have it always right here in the nursery?”
Miss Palmer had hesitated a little before replying. Indeed Sally’s theories often caused her to hesitate. However, she finally explained that the idea would be quite impossible, as all buildings of any size require a firm foundation. And she thereupon proceeded to explain the nature of the pivot, considering the opportunity a very fitting one.
“Besides,” she concluded, “wouldn’t it be very selfish for us to keep all the sunshine on our side of the house all the time? What would become of Grandma and Bob?”
Sally was quiet for a moment, thinking.