Father Is Building A New House, But I've Had One Given To Me For My Own; Brick Red, With A White Window, And Black Where It Ought To Be Glass, And The Chimney Yellow, Like Stone. Brother Bill Made Me The Shelves With His Tool-Box, And The Table I Had Before, And The Pestle-And-Mortar; And Mother Gave Me The Jam-Pot When It Was Empty; It's Rather Big, But It's The Only Pot We Have That Will Really Hold Water. We--That Is I And Jemima, My Doll. (For It's A Doll'S House, You Know, Though Some Of The Things Are Real, Like The Nutmeg-Grater, But Not The Wooden Plates That Stand In A Row. They Came Out Of A Box Of Toy Tea-Things, And I Can't Think What Became Of The Others; But One Never Can Tell What Becomes Of Anything When One Has Brothers.) Jemima Is Much Smaller Than I Am, And, Being Made Of Wood, She Is Thin; She Takes Up Too Much Room Inside, But She Can Lie Outside On The Roof Without Breaking It In. I Wish I Had A Drawing-Room To Put Her In When I Want To Really Cook; I Have To Have The Kitchen-Table Outside As It Is, And The Pestle-And-Mortar Is Rather Too Heavy For It, And Everybody Can Look. There'S No Front Door To The House, Because There'S No Front To Have A Door In, And Beside, If There Were, I Couldn't Play With Anything, For I Shouldn't Know How To Get Inside. I Never Heard Of A House With Only One Room, Except The Cobbler'S, And His Was A Stall. I Don't Quite Know What That Is; But It Isn't A House, And It Served Him For Parlour And Kitchen And All. Father Says That Whilst He Is About It, He Thinks He Shall Add On A Wing; And Brother Bill Says He'll Nail My Doll'S House On The Top Of An Old Tea-Chest, Which Will Come To The Same Thing. * * * * * Father'S House Is Not Finished, Though The Wing Is; For Now The Builder Says It Will Be All Wrong If There Isn't Another To Match; And My House Isn't Done Either, Though It's Nailed On, For Bill Took Off The Roof To Make A New One Of Thatch. The Paint Is Very Much Scratched, But He Says That's Nothing, For It Must Have Had A New Coat; And He Means To Paint It For Me, Inside And Out, When He Paints His Own Boat. There'S A Sad Hole In The Floor, But Bill Says The Wood Is As Rotten As Rotten Can Be: Which Was Why He Made Such A Mess Of The Side With Trying To Put Real Glass In The Window, Through Which One Can See. Bill Says He Believes That The Shortest Plan Would Be To Make A New Doll'S House With Proper Rooms, In The Regular Way; Which Was What The Builder Said To Father When He Wanted To Build In The Old Front; And To-Day I Heard Him Tell Him The Old Materials Were No Good To Use And Weren't Worth The Expense Of Carting Away. I Don't Know When I Shall Be Able To Play At Dolls Again, For All The Things Are Put Away In A Box; Except Jemima And The Pestle-And-Mortar, And They're In The Bottom Drawer With My Sunday Frocks. I Almost Wish I Had Kept The House As It Was Before; We Managed Very Well With A Painted Window And Without A Front Door. I Don't Know What Father Means To Do With His House, But If Ever Mine Is Finished, I'll Never Have It Altered Any More.