CHAPTER XLIII

is,”pleadedValancy.“Ican’tliveinapalace.” “Can’tcomedowntothatafteryourBlueCastle,”grinnedBarney.“Don’tworry,sweet.Icouldn’tliveinthathousemyself.Ithasawhitemarblestairwaywithgiltbannistersandlookslikeafurnitureshopwiththelabelsoff.Likewiseit’stheprideofDad’sheart.We’llgetalittlehousesomewhereoutsideofMontreal—intherealcountry—nearenoughtoseeDadoften.Ithinkwe’llbuildoneforourselves.Ahouseyoubuildforyourselfissomuchnicerthanahand-me-down.Butwe’llspendoursummersinMistawis.Andourautumnstravelling.IwantyoutoseetheAlhambra—it’sthenearestthingtotheBlueCastleofyourdreamsIcanthinkof.Andthere’sanold-worldgardeninItalywhereIwanttoshowyouthemoonrisingoverRomethroughthedarkcypress-trees.” “Willthatbeanylo