I WE BUY A PLACE II OURSELVES AND OUR NEIGHBORS III WE MAKE OUR BARGAIN KNOWN IV THE FIRST PAYMENT V WE NEGOTIATE A MORTGAGE VI I AM BESOUGHT TO BUY THINGS VII OUR PLANS FOR IMPROVEMENTS VIII THE VANDALS BEGIN THEIR WORK IX NEIGHBOR MACLEOD'S THISTLE X COLONEL DOLLER'S GREAT IDEA XI I MAKE A STAND FOR MY RIGHTS XII I AM DECEIVED IN MR. WAX XIII EDITOR WOODSIT A TRUE FRIEND XIV THE VICTIM OF AN ORDINANCE XV THE QUESTION OF INSURANCE XVI NEIGHBOR ROBBINS' PLATYPUS XVII OUR DEVICES FOR ECONOMIZING XVIII I STATE MY VIEWS ON TAXATION XIX OTHER PEOPLE'S DOGS XX I ACQUIRE POISON AND EXPERIENCE XXI WITH PLUMBERS AND PAINTERS XXII THE BUTLER'S PANTRY XXIII ALICE'S NIGHT WATCHMAN XXIV DRIVEWAYS AND WALL PAPERS XXV AT LAST WE ENTER OUR HOUSE THE HOUSE I WE BUY A PLACE It was either Plato the Athenian, or Confucius the Chinese, or Andromachus the Cretan--or some other philosopher whose name I disremember--that remarked once upon a time, and the time was many centuries ago, that no woman was happy until she got herself a home. It really makes no difference who first uttered this truth, the truth itself is and always has been recognized as one possessing nearly all the virtues of an axiom. I recall that one of the first wishes I heard Alice express during our honeymoon was that we should sometime be rich enough to be able to build a dear little house for ourselves. We were poor, of course; otherwise our air castle would not have been "a dear little house"; it would have been a palatial residence with a dance-hall at the top and a wine-cellar at the bottom thereof. I have always observed that when the money comes in the poetry flies out. Bread and cheese and kisses are all well enough for poverty-stricken romance, but as soon as a poor man receives a windfall his thoughts turn inevitably to a contemplation of the probability of terrapin and canvasbacks.