“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.”