would have been better employed in contriving puzzles than in shaping human habitations. No figure in Euclid could give any idea of that apartment. It contained seven corners, two of the walls sloped to a point, and the window was just over the fireplace. The only possible position for the bedstead was between the door and the cupboard. To get anything out of the cupboard, we had to scramble over the bed, and a large percentage of the various commodities thus obtained were absorbed by the bedclothes. Indeed, so many things were spilled, and dropped upon the bed that, towards night time, it had become a sort of small cooperative store. Coal was what it always had most in stock. We used to keep our coal in the bottom part of the cupboard, and, when any was wanted, we had to climb over the bed, fill a shovelful, and then crawl back. It was an exciting moment when we reached the middle of the bed. We would hold our breath, fix our eyes upon the shovel, and poise ourselves for the last move. The next instant, we, and the coals, and the shovel, and the bed would be all mixed up together.
I've heard of people going into raptures over beds of coal. We slept in one every night, and were not in the least stuck up about it.
But our attic, unique though it was, had by no means exhausted the architect's sense of humour. The arrangement of the whole house was a marvel of
