"Come down, Mollie," called Prue. "The house is beautiful now; come
and see it."

It certainly looked very snug, with the carpet, whose shabbiness was
not noticeable in the dim light, and the gaily striped curtains,
which had been tacked up and fastened back from the windows. They
had added a set of shelves made out of a box covered with American
leather and brass-headed nails. A few books lay upon one shelf, and
on another stood a collection of cups, saucers, and plates, cracked,
perhaps, and not all matching, but suggestive of convivial parties
and good cheer. In one corner lay a cushion embroidered in woolwork
with magenta roses, pea-green leaves, and orange-coloured daisies,
all upon a background of ultramarine blue. Mollie thought it gave an
effective touch to the somewhat scanty furnishing--in fact, it was
the only furniture there was, except the shelves.

"How perfectly _ripping_!" Mollie exclaimed enthusiastically. "If I
had this house I would live in it all the time. It is _much_ nicer
than a common house in a road. I do think Hugh is the cleverest boy
I ever met."

"This is nothing much," Hugh said modestly, "you should see my
raft--that _is_ worth seeing. I have invented a way of arranging
corks so that it will float in the severest storm. It could not sink
if it tried, unless, of course, it became waterlogged. But I can
only work at that when we are down at Brighton."

"I wish my brother Dick could be a Time-traveller and come here,"
sighed Mollie. "He would adore this tree, and the raft too."