the members composing it must all in time return to the dust?"

"Is there no decay, then, of the materials composing a house?"

"Assuredly there is! Even the hardest stone is worn in time by the
elements, or by the footsteps of many generations of men; but the stone
that decays is removed, and the house does not suffer."

"I have never looked at it quite in this light before," said I. "But
surely we can build a house whenever we wish!"

"Build a house whenever we wish!" he repeated, with that astonished look
which threatened to become the permanent expression of his face--so long
as he had me to talk with, at any rate.

"Yes, or pull one down if we find it unsuitable--" But his look of
horror here made me pause, and to finish the sentence I added: "Of
course, you must admit that a house had a beginning?"

"Yes; and so had the forest, the mountain, the human race, the world
itself. But the origin of all these things is covered with the mists of
time."

"Does it never happen, then, that a house, however substantially
built--"

"However what! But never mind; you continue to speak in riddles. Pray,
finish what you were saying."

"Does it never happen that a house is overthrown by some natural