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T
HE next morning while Mother Gipsy was bathing Joe-Boy,
she told him all about the new house she and Father
Gipsy were going to build for him, and
"Yes," said Mother Gipsy, finding a new dimple to kiss,
"we are building this house for you, sir, because we
love you so, and right this very minute,
Then she laughed to think of a pattern to make a house
by. But
dear me, don't you have to have patterns to make
dresses by? Then
how could you make a house without a pattern, I'd like
to know? Only
we would call them plans, and not patterns,
as
"This must be the place," said Father Gipsy, "because
architect means a man who makes plans to build houses
by. I shall go right in and see him about
Sure enough there sat the architect at a big table, busily drawing the pictures of houses. There were ink and pens and pencils and paper all over his table, and he was as busy as busy could be.
"Oh yes," he said to Father Gipsy, "I draw plans for houses—large ones and small ones, brick houses, plank houses and stone houses—let me show you some."
So Father Gipsy sat down by the table, and the
architect took down a big book full of houses and told
him to look for the one he liked the best. There were
so many pretty ones, though, that
So Father Gipsy took out his big leather pocket book
and gave some of his dollars to the architect for the
house plan, and then he hurried to the tent to show it
to
"Why, it's just the thing," said Mother Gipsy, "all the
rooms and the porch just as I wished. How nice it is to
have architects to help us build our houses. I'm sure I
thank this one very much, for drawing such a beautiful
plan for the other workmen to look at while they build
"There now!" said Mother Gipsy, laughing, "that will
help us to remember." Then they went into the tent to
tell