He waited three weeks, and then came Darrell’s reply, saying that he could not possibly do what Thyrsis wished. There were so many calls upon him--the Socialist paper was in trouble, and so on. Thereupon Thyrsis wrote to the publisher to say that he accepted the offer and would sign the contract; but in a couple of days he received a curt reply, to the effect that the publisher had changed his mind, and no longer cared to consider the arrangement. He had, as Thyrsis found afterwards, got rid of the enthusiastic young man who had inveigled him into “The Hearer of Truth”; and perhaps also he had been reading the ridicule which the critics were pouring out upon that unhappy book. So once more Thyrsis wrote to Darrell--a letter of agonized entreaty. He was at the most critical moment of his life; and now, at the very culmination of his effort, to have to give up would be a calamity he could simply not contemplate. If only he could finish the task, he would be saved; for this was a book that would grip men and shake them--that it should fail was simply unthinkable. He could make out with two hundred dollars; and he besought his friend at any sacrifice to stand by him. He asked him to cable; and when, a couple of weeks later, the message came--“all right”--to Thyrsis it was like waking up and escaping from the grip of some terrible dream. Section 6. And so began the house-building. It was high time, too--the latter part of September, and the nights were growing chill. He sought out a carpenter to help him, and had an interview with his friend the farmer, who agreed to rent a bit of land, in a corner of his orchard, by the edge of the wood. It was under the shade of a great elm-tree, and sufficiently remote from all the world to satisfy the taste of any literary hermit. For months before this he and Corydon had discussed the plans of their future home; every square inch of it had been a subject of debate. In its architectural style it was a compromise between Corydon’s aesthetic yearnings, and the rigid standards of economy which circumstance imposed. It was to be eighteen feet long and sixteen feet wide--six feet high at the sides and nine in the centre. It was to be “weather-boarded”, and roofed with paper, instead of shingles--this being so much cheaper. Corydon heard with dismay that it would be necessary to paint this roofing-paper black; and Thyrsis, by way of compensation, agreed that the weather-boards should have some “natural finish”, instead of common paint. There was to be a six-foot piazza in front, and a little platform in back, with steps descending to the spring.