was what he always called the fireplace. "It burns really, too. And this is the well, and this is the dishpan, and this is the 'frigerator'!"
At last every one climbed into the car itself, and Mr. Cordyce saw the beds, the cash account on the wall, the wonderful shelf, and each separate dish. Each dish had a story of its own.
"That's more than my dishes have," observed Mr. Cordyce.
Mrs. McAllister, who knew what his dishes were, was silent.
They ate chicken sandwiches on the very same tablecloth, and Benny drank from his pink cup, and Watch couldn't understand why they went away at all.
But it was a trifle cool on the hill now when the sun began to sink, and after rolling the door shut, they left regretfully.
"Tomorrow," suggested Mr. Cordyce, as they drove home, "will you all come and see my house?"
"Oh, yes," agreed the children happily, little dreaming what was in store for them on the next day and all the days to come.
