en and dining-room was in every
separate wing, with an outside door.

"I wonder," cried Dorothy, "if we've come to an orphan asylum!"

"Heaven knows what we've come to," muttered Harlan. "You know I never was
here before."

"Did Uncle Ebeneezer have a large family?"

"Only Aunt Rebecca, who died very soon, as I told you. Mother was his only
sister, and I her only child, so it wasn't on our side."

"Perhaps," observed Dorothy, "Aunt Rebecca had relations."

"One, two, three, four, five," counted Harlan. "There are five sets of
apartments on this side, and three on the other. Let's go upstairs."

From the low front door a series of low windows extended across the house
on each side, abundantly lighting the two front rooms, which were
separated by the wide hall. A high, narrow window in the lower hall,
seemingly with no purpose whatever, began far above the low door and ended
abruptly at the ceiling. In the upper hall, a similar window began at the
floor and extended upward no higher than Harlan's knees. As Dorothy said,
"one would have to lie down to look out of it," but it lighted the hall,
which, after all, was the main thing.

In each of the two front rooms, upstairs, was a single round window, too
high for one to look out of without standing on a chair, though in both
rooms there was plenty of side light. One wing on each side of the house
had been carried up to the second story, and the arrangement of rooms was
the same as below, outside stairways leading from the kitchens to the
ground.

"I never saw so many beds in my life," cried Dorothy.

"Seems to be a perfect Bedlam," rejoined Harlan, making a poor attempt at
a joke and laughing mirthlessly. In his heart he began to doubt the wisdom
of marrying on six hundred dollars, an unexplored heirloom in Judson
Centre, and an overweening desire to write books.

For the first time, his temerity appeared to him in its proper colours. He
had been a space writer and Dorothy the private secretary of a Personage,
when they met, in the dreary basement dining-room of a New York
boarding-house, and speedily fell in love. Shortly afterward, when Harlan
received a letter which contained a key, and announced that Mr. Judson's
house, fully furnished, had been bequeathed to his nephew, they had
light-heartedly embarked upon matrimony with no fears for the future.

Two hundred dollars had been spent upon a very modest honeymoon, and the
three hundred and ninety-seven dollar