latter part of September, and the nights were growing chill. He sought
out a carpenter to help him, and had an interview with his friend the
farmer, who agreed to rent a bit of land, in a corner of his orchard,
by the edge of the wood. It was under the shade of a great elm-tree,
and sufficiently remote from all the world to satisfy the taste of any
literary hermit.
For months before this he and Corydon had discussed the plans of their
future home; every square inch of it had been a subject of debate. In
its architectural style it was a compromise between Corydon’s aesthetic
yearnings, and the rigid standards of economy which circumstance
imposed. It was to be eighteen feet long and sixteen feet wide--six
feet high at the sides and nine in the centre. It was to be
“weather-boarded”, and roofed with paper, instead of shingles--this
being so much cheaper. Corydon heard with dismay that it would be
necessary to paint this roofing-paper black; and Thyrsis, by way of
compensation, agreed that the weather-boards should have some “natural
finish”, instead of common paint. There was to be a six-foot piazza
in front, and a little platform in back, with steps descending to the
spring.
There had been long discussions about the method of heating the mansion.
Corydon had been observing the customs of her neighbors in this typical
“small-farming” district, and declared that they had two leading
characteristics: first, they were not happy until they had had all their
own teeth extracted, and a complete set of “store-teeth” substituted;
and second, as soon as they moved into a house, they boarded over the
open fire-place and covered the boards with wall-paper. But Thyrsis,
making investigations along practical lines, found that the open
fire-place had a bad reputation as a consumer of fuel; and also, it
would take a mason to build a chimney, and the wages of masons were
high. So Corydon had to reconcile herself to a house with a stove, and a
stove-pipe that went through a hole in the wall!
Nevertheless this house-building time was one of the happiest periods
of their lives. For here was something constructive, in which they could
both be occupied. Thyrsis would be up and at work early in the morning,
before the carpenter came; and in between the baby’s various meals,
Corydon would come also, and take part in the operations. A miraculous
thing it was to see the house of their dreams coming into being, with
every feature just as they had planned it. And what a palatial structure
it was--with so much space and air! One could actually move about in it
without danger of striking one’s head; coming into it from the tent, one
felt as if he were entering a cathedral!
They were so consumed with a desire to see it finished, that Thyrsis
would stay at the work until darkness came upon him, and sometimes even
worked by moon-light, or with a lantern. And how proud they would be
when the carpenter came next morning, and found the last roof-boards
laid, or the flooring all completed! Thyrsis learned the mysteries of
window-sills and door-frames, the excitements of “weather-boarding,”
and the perils of roof-painting. He realized with wonder how many
achievements of civilization the privileged classes take as a matter of
course. What a remarkable thing it was, when one came to think of it,
that a door should swing true upon its hinges, and fit exactly into
its frame, and latch with a precise and soul-satisfying snap! And that
windows should slide up and down in their frames, and stop at certain
places with a spring-catch!
Corydon too was interested in these discoveries, and became skilled at
holding weather-boards while her husband nailed them, and at helping to
unroll and measure roofing-paper, and climbing up the ladder and holding
it in place. Even the baby became fired with the spirit of achievement,
and would get himself a hammer and a board, and plague his parents until
they started a dozen or so of nails for him--after which he would sit
and blissfully pound them into the board, and all but pound them through
the board in his enthusiasm. Before long he even learned to start them
himself; and a most diverting sight it was to see this twenty-two-months
old youngster driving nails like an infant Hercules. For the fastening
of the roofing-paper they used little circular plates of tin called
“cotterels”; and these also Cedric must learn to use. So a new phrase
was added to the vocabulary of “dam-fool talk”. “Bongie cowtoos” was
the name of the operation; for a couple Of years thereafter, whenever
Corydon and Thyrsis wished to be let alone to discuss the problems of
the universe, they would get the baby a hammer and some nails and a
board, and repeat that magic formula, and the problem was solved.
Unfortunately, however, it was not all smooth sailing in the
carpentry-business. There were mashed thumbs and sawed fingers; and
then, in an evil hour, Thyrsis came upon an advertisement which told of
a wonderful new kind of wall-paper which could be applied directly to
laths--thus enabling one to dispense with plaster. He sent for ten or
twelve dollars’ worth of this material, and he and Corydon spent a whole
morning making a mixture of glue and flour-paste and water, and boiling
it in an iron preserving-kettle. But alas, the paper would not paste;
and then they had a painful time. Corydon gave up in disgust, and went
away; but Thyrsis, to whom economy was a kind of disease, would not give
up, and was angry with the other for urging him to give up. He spent
a whole day wrestling with the concoction, and gave himself a headache
with the ghastly odor. But in the end he had to dump it out, and clean
the kettle, and fasten the paper to the lathes with “bongie cowtoos”.
As the strips of paper did not correspond with the studding, he found
himself driving nails into springy laths, an operation most trying
to the temper of any man of letters. One of the trials of this house
forever after was that upon the least jar a corner of the ceiling was
liable to fall loose; and then one would have to get a ladder, and climb
up into a hot region, and pound nails into a broken lath, with dust
sifting down into one’s eyes, and the hammer hitting one’s sore thumb,
and occasioning exclamations not at all suitable for the ears of a
two-year-old intelligence.