one has a perfect house, a mansion, all built for him, if he only knew it; but they don't seem to realize it; and they go to work, pottering around and nailing on porticoes and clapboards and ginger-bread fixin's, and building little 'lean-tos' to live in, instead of having gumption enough to occupy their mansions."
Marjorie looked about again, and then she saw that upon every lot there did, indeed, stand a beautiful white mansion; and that these ugly, patched up houses were built all about them and up against them, sometimes almost hiding them from sight; while, in other cases, the mansions stood out clean and fair, with scarcely any of the unsightly additions, and the yards had been cleared of the piles of lumber.
"How beautiful it is when you see only the mansions!" exclaimed Marjorie. "They are so perfect and so—so—"
"Harmonious," suggested the Dream.
"Yes, that's the word. Why, it's almost—it's exactly—like one great palace. It makes me think of—of—" Marjorie hesitated and wrinkled her brows in thought.
"Of what?" asked the Dream.
