The Four-Story Mistake Read Free Page A

only green, and trees and telegraph poles rising up, one after the other, and sweeping by in a dignified dance. The road stretched ahead of them blue-grey and shining, like the back of a whale. They traveled along it and traveled along it. Oliver nodded with sleep on Cuffy’s lap. Then the taxi slowed, turned in at a wide gate, and bumped along a dirt road. The trees tossed under the wind and leaves flew through the air and clung damply to the windshield.
    â€œThis is the beginning of it,” Father said, and even Oliver roused himself expectantly. The car went up a hill with woods on each side, and then down again to a valley, and there was the house! It was white and square, with a mansard roof and a cupola on top. It seemed too broad for its height, and the cupola sitting in the middle of the roof looked like a foolish little hat. The children liked the way it looked. Two huge black trees grew beside the house, and lots of other trees, and behind it the woods rose steeply: they glowed with the wild luminous green of a rainy twilight. Randy’s heart lifted hopefully in spite of her.
    The taxi stopped and Father got out. He stood there in the rain, flourishing his hat, and said, “Welcome to the Four-Story Mistake!”
    â€œThe what? ” cried everyone; and the taxi driver helped himself to a hearty laugh.
    â€œThe Four-Story Mistake,” Father repeated.
    â€œBut it hasn’t got four stories,” Mona objected. “Unless you count the little tower on top.”
    â€œThat’s just the point,” Father said. “This was built in 1871 by a very rich gentleman named Cassidy who had a wife and fourteen children. They took up a lot of room, as you can imagine, so when he bought this piece of land he commissioned an architect to build him a four-story house. Then he took his family to Europe for the Grand Tour, leaving the house to get itself built in his absence. The Cassidys were gone two years, and when they returned they found only a three -story house awaiting them. Nobody knows whose fault it was. But poor Mr. Cassidy was less rich on his return than he’d been before and he couldn’t afford to have the fourth story added; the best he could do was to build that little cupola to try and give the house more height, and they just squeezed into it somehow, and ever since it’s been known as the Four-Story Mistake.”
    â€œLet’s hope it doesn’t turn out to be a mistake to live in,” said Rush. Then they all wiped their feet on the doormat, because Cuffy reminded them, and went into the house. They sniffed the new smell of it like a pack of young hounds. It smelled of mustiness and fresh paint and wood smoke: rather pleasant, but not yet the smell of home. It looked all right, too, though the furniture hadn’t settled down in its new surroundings. Half a dozen chairs clustered together like people after church, the couch was full of books, and on the marble-topped table Father’s statue of the goddess Kwan Yin stood serenely beside the typewriter, a large tin of floor-wax, and a pair of tennis shoes.
    â€œWhere’s my piano?” demanded Rush. “Where are my photographs?” demanded Mona. “Am I really going to have a room all by myself?” asked Oliver. “Are there owls in the woods?” asked Randy. Isaac ran madly from room to room uttering short barks, Cuffy clashed among the pans in the kitchen, and Father and Willy started upstairs with the luggage.
    â€œMr. Melendy,” said Cuffy, reappearing in the living room, her face grave and her tone solemn, “I can’t find a thing to eat in the kitchen!”
    â€œOh, Lord!” said Father helplessly, his arms pulled down by suitcases. “I guess I forgot to get anything. I was so busy getting the furniture placed that I never even thought about food!”
    The children’s faces fell.
    â€œI’ll drive to town and buy something,” offered