and we've thought a little of building a house up a tree."

"What for?" said Gem rather languidly,--for when the thermometer
stands in the eighties, the idea of building becomes oppressive.

"What for!" repeated Tom indignantly; "that's just like a girl! For
fun, of course. What else, do you suppose? But you needn't have
anything to do with it. You can go right into the house this very
minute, if you like."

"I don't want to go into the house; you know that very well, Tom
Morris. I always like to see the B. B.'s, and I think a house in a
tree will be splendid!" said Gem quickly.

"Won't it, though! We're going to take the big cask over there, and
hoist up all the boards, and nails, and things. There's a place in the
main branches where we can build a real room, big enough for all of
us, if we squeeze tight. We're going to have a floor, and roof, and
sides, and a hole in the bottom to climb in,--a sort of sally-port,
you know. It will be a regular fort, and I rather guess those
south-end fellows will wink out of the wrong sides of their eyes when
they see it."

"Won't it be rather warm up there?" suggested Gem.

"I never saw such a baby!" exclaimed Tom. "Warm? of course it will be,
and what then? The monitors were warm, I reckon, but you never caught
our soldiers whining about it. The B. B.'s will stand up to their work
like men, and they'll stay in that house when it's built, even if they
melt down to their very backbones!"