It was now nearly time for dinner; and Mr. Curtis helped his wife into the carriage; and they all rode away to Mr. Taylor’s farm, where they found a nice dinner of roast lamb and fresh vegetables awaiting them.  For dessert there was plenty of strawberries and sweet, thick cream, which the grown people as well as the children enjoyed very much.

After dinner Mr. Rand opened a large book which Bertie thought looked like a big atlas; and then the stranger and papa and mamma gathered around the table to look at the plans of houses Mr. Rand had brought with him.

First, there was a picture of a pretty cottage with a verandah running around it.  Then came the plan of a barn, very pretty and picturesque; but Mr. Rand tumbled these over without any ceremony, saying, ­

“You must have something better than that;” and presently he came to the picture of a large house with turrets and towers, which looked very imposing.

“There it is.  That’s the plan for you,” the gentleman exclaimed, in an exultant tone.

“What’s the cost of that?” asked Mr. Curtis.

“Pshaw! the cost of a building is nothing to you,” Mr. Rand answered, laughing.  “The thing to be considered is whether you like it.”

“What do you say, Cecilia?”

“It does not look home-like.  The ground is high enough without mounting to the towers to see the prospect.  I have an idea in my own mind if I could explain it to you.”

“Try, if you please, Mrs. Curtis.”

“I want, first of all,” the lady began, “to have the room in which we shall live, in the most pleasant part of the house.  It ought to be eighteen feet by twenty-five, the front finished with a large bay-window, and also a window on each side looking out on a piazza.  This room should project from the main house about twelve feet, the space on each side filled with a piazza.  On one side of the main building I would have a large parlor for state occasions; on the other, the dining-room and library, and back of the large sitting-room on the other side of the spacious hall, which occupies the middle of the house, and well lighted from above, will be the kitchen.  Below, in a basement, I would have a room fitted with tubs, boilers, etc., for a wash-room, and out of it the laundry.  The chambers, well provided with closets, must be for after consideration.”

“A capital plan!” exclaimed the architect.  “You have given me a very good general idea; now if you will particularize or express in detail what kind of finish suits your taste, I will draw you a plan that I think you will accept; but wouldn’t it be an addition to run up a tower at one corner?  It would be very imposing.”

“That is my principal objection.  We are intending to settle in this quiet village.  We hope to pass the rest of our lives here.  We mean to be one of the people.  If our house is too grand it may not be so easy for our neighbors to approach us, or for us to gain access to their humble cottages.  Besides, if we are not extravagant, and too far above them, they will try to imitate us.  Instead of the square, upright, though neat houses they have now, they will see how much expression a little porch or portico will give to their dwellings.”

Mr. Rand folded his portfolio together without another word, while Mr. Curtis laughingly remarked, ­

“You see, my wife has set her heart on doing good here.  She already has made friends with all the workmen at Woodlawn, and acts in the capacity of Doctress to their families.”

This was Wednesday; and Saturday Mr. Rand came again, gayly announced by Bertie, who cried out, ­

“Mamma, here’s the architect.”

The plan was examined and highly approved.  The whole party rode to the lake, where Mr. Rand helped Mr. Curtis measure off the land ready for the cellar, the architect having agreed to erect the whole building, hire masons and carpenters, and painters and plumbers, and whoever else was necessary, as soon as the underpinning was ready to set the house upon.

When Mr. Curtis went away he left the large portfolio, which mamma told Bertie, contained not only the picture of the house which he admired so much, but a written account of every room, closet, hall, window and door to be put in it.  “These,” she said, “are Mr. Rand’s specifications; that is, he specifies exactly what kind of doorknobs we shall have, or the cost and finish of the silver faucets connected with the bowls in the chambers.”

Bertie clapped his hands, dancing up and down.  “I know, mamma,” he exclaimed, “I do know, and when I’m a man I shall ask Mr. Rand to write specifications for me.”