“I always did like stone houses,” said Beth. She had never seen one, but she knew at that moment that she always had preferred them to any other.
Helen had already laid down a line of stones. “Start at this corner and make a line over to here.” She laid a stone down to mark the corners of a large rectangle which was to be the living room. “Right here will be the door on to the front porch. Don’t put stones there,—here will be a large double door into the library. We’ll leave that open.”
It took a little time to lay the stones around until the general outline was that of the ground plan of a large house. The stones were the walls. Open spaces were the doors and windows.
The little girls stood in the drawing room and looked about with an air of pride. “It’s all ready now but the furnishing,” said Helen. “We must have some dishes, too, for the china closet.”
“I have some saucers and cups without handles. I’ll get them.” She started toward the house. Helen gave a scream of horror and clutched at Beth’s arm.
“Look what you are doing,” she cried. “Do be careful. Come back,” and she forcibly brought her back.
“What’s the trouble? What ever am I doing? I can’t see that I’ve done anything wrong.”
“You’ve stepped over the walls. Who ever knew any one to leave a room by stepping over the wall. Do be careful and go through the doors.”
“Oh, I thought the way you screamed that it was a snake—one of those little green ones.” She obediently moved through the open space meant for a door and went for the broken dishes.
By the time she had returned, Helen had furnished the drawing room. A discarded wash-boiler, turned upside down, served as a piano. A shingle resting upon two stones did very well as a music rest. Helen was down on her knees before it, singing with all her might and thumping with her knuckles until the tin resounded.