The Wallises lived in a house almost as small as a playhouse at the very bottom of the hill. You stepped down two stone steps from the sidewalk into the tiny yard bordered with conch shells and red geraniums. The cottage had forgotten what color it had ever been painted and was rain-gray, with a narrow porch decorated with green Chinese shades and a green swing. Unluckily, the grown-ups at once appropriated this swing, so the girls went inside to look around. They saw at once that if Isobel were their mother and this their home there would be very little room for play, since a big brass bed took up most of the space in the parlor. It bore a snow-white spread and pillow shams embroidered in red; on one sham was worked “I slept and dreamed that Life was Beauty” with a lady embroidered by way of illustration watering a rosebush, and on the other “I woke and found that Life was Duty” with the same lady holding a broom. This was exactly the same as in Dr. Bird’s spare bedroom and you did not need to know how to read to recognize the thought even if you did not understand it. The bay window was filled with ferns in mottled green jardinieres, two rubber plants as tall as Lena, and a tiny table of china knickknacks: a milk-glass setting hen, a little fisher-boy in colored china holding two brown warty fish, a go-way-back-and-sit-down rug, and other souvenirs of Cedar Point, Put-in Bay, and Puritan Springs, so that nobody could possibly play train here in rocking chairs without knocking things over. The kitchen was twice the size of the parlor-bedroom. It had measle wallpaper—or at least the colored specks looked like measles, Marcia remarked to Lena—and red-checked curtains and a red-checked tablecloth over the big dining table, and a big stove with a dishpan on it of what appeared to be salt-rising dough, from a finger’s taste. One good thing about this kitchen was a large headless wire woman in the corner, with some red plaid gingham pinned around her and a tape measure hanging from her neck. Lena and Marcia were admiringly silent before this fine thing, but Lena finally claimed it by saying, “When I grow up I’m going to be a dressmaker and have a Form in my kitchen, too.”

“I’m going to be a fireman like Chris,” Marcia retorted coldly. “I’ll be riding on a train mostly.”

This crushed Lena, for Marcia always knew better things to want than she did. They found a stack of Butterick Pattern Books and sat on the floor to examine them, wishing ardently that they could cut out the figures for paper dolls. Presently Chris came back to make some lemonade for everybody. He was a lean, tall, dark, squint-eyed young man with thick tousled black hair and white teeth. He made you laugh when he winked at you.

“Chris is my favorite relation,” Lena said frankly.

“I’m going to marry him when I grow up,” Marcia said, and Lena pouted again. But it was really Lena he held on his lap and when he gave them candy he gave Lena the biggest piece. Lena shot a triumphant glance from violet eyes at Marcia, but Marcia again foiled her by turning her head away proudly.