. We had just brought the base to the level of the sill when--the
annual County Fair broke out!

All work ceased. The workmen went to the ball game and to the cattle
show and to the races, leaving our living-room open to the elements, and
our lawn desolate with plaster.

For three days we suffered this mutilation. At last the master mason
returned, but without his tender. "No matter," I said to him. "I can mix
mortar and sand," and I did. I also carried brick, splashing myself
with lime and skinning my hands,--but the chimney grew!

Painfully, with some doubt and hesitancy, but with assuring skill, Otto
laid the actual firebox, and when the dark-red, delightfully rude piers
of the arch began to rise from the floor within the room, the entire
family gathered to admire the structure and to cheer the workmen on
their way.

The little inequalities which came into the brickwork delighted us.
These "accidentals" as the painters say were quite as we wished them to
be. Privately, our bricklayer considered us--"Crazy." The idea of
putting common rough brick on the _inside_ of a house!

The library floor was splotched with mortar, the dining-room was cold
and buzzing with impertinent flies, but what of that--the tower of brick
was climbing.

The mason called insatiably for more brick, more mortar, and the chimney
(the only outside chimney in Hamilton township) rose grandly, alarmingly
above the roof--whilst I gained a reputation for princely expenditure
which it will take me a long time to live down.

Suddenly discovering that we had no fire-clay for the lining of the
firebox, I ordered it by express (another ruinous extravagance), and the
work went on. It was almost done when a cold rain began, driving the
workmen indoors.

Zulime fairly ached with eagerness to have an end of the mess, and the
mason catching the spirit of our unrest worked on in the rain. One by
one the bricks slipped into place.

"Oh, how beautiful the fire would be on a day like this!" exclaimed
Zulime. "Do you think it will ever be finished? I can't believe it. It's
all a dream. It won't draw--or something. It's too good to be true."

"It will be done to-night--and it will draw," I stoutly replied.

At noon, the inside being done, Otto went outside to complete the top,
toiling heroically in the drizzle.

At last, for the fourth time we cleaned the room of all but a few chips
of the sill, which I intended to use for our first blaze. Then, at my