The house in which Mr. Bondy lives is large and roomy. It stands on a knoll or little hill, and has green grass and bright pretty flowers all around it. There are also trees, some for shade and some for fruit.

But it is not about the house or the garden that I wish to tell you now. You may laugh when I say that I want to talk to you about the GARRET of the house.

"O, Mr. Robin Ranger," say you, "what is there about the garret that will make a pleasant story for me to read? Don't the rats and mice live in the garret? It is not a nice place: cold in winter, and hot in summer."

But stop a moment, Master Flurry, (if that is your name.) Isn't there a garret to your house? And don't you go there sometimes to play, or to find something that has been put in the rag bag? If you do not, I think your sister does, and you may call her, if you think you do not want to read about a garret, and see if she will not like it.

But I suppose that as you have read so far, you think you may as well go on and find out what the story is about.

Mr. Bondy's garret was quite large. It had four small windows in it, two at each end, so that there was plenty of light. There was also a chimney between each pair of windows.

On the floor of the garret there was a little of everything: old bedsteads and chairs waiting to be mended; trunks, valises, and carpet-bags ready for traveling; rolls of spare carpet, matting, and oil cloth; two or three stoves, put out of sight for the summer; hats in bandboxes, and boots without any boxes; rag bags, and bags without any rags.

Yet there was no disorder on the floor. Mrs. Bondy was a neat and careful woman, and she had everything in her house, even in the garret, put in order and kept so. Her motto was, "A place for everything, and everything in its place." Hence the floor of the garret was kept clean, and the various things I have named were stowed away where they might be found when wanted.

There was a rope stretched across one end of the garret, and on this rope were hung old clothes to be given to the poor, and winter clothes not now in use. Nails were also driven into the rafters, which, I suppose you know, are the beams or long pieces of wood just under the roof. From these nails there hung little bundles of last year's herbs: mint, sage, thyme, catnip, pennyroyal, and summer savory. These gave to the garret a very pleasant smell.

Against one of the chimneys there stood a set of shelves which had once been used in the kitchen; but when the kitchen was made larger, new shelves were put in, and these old ones were sent up garret, where old papers and books were piled on them.

I must not forget to tell you that on and under an old table with a broken leg there were some toys: dolls, some with broken heads, and some with broken arms; toy cats that couldn't squeak, and dogs that had long ceased to bark; a company of soldiers that had once been able to stand up together, but now looked as if they had been in the wars. The captain had lost his head, and most of the men had lost either an arm or a leg.

There was also a little cradle with one rocker off, and a small cart with only one wheel. There was a Noah's ark that had once been filled with animals and with Noah's family—wooden animals and wooden people; but the lid of the ark was gone, as though a great wind had blown it away, and the animals and people were scattered, with broken limbs and heads, about the floor.

These toys had been nice and new once, but they had been used as all other toys are, and did not long stand the wear and tear of young hands. They were still good enough to play with once in a while, and thus were put up in the garret, while the newer and better toys were kept below, some in the nursery and a few in the parlor.

And now you begin to think there must be some children in Mr. Bondy's house, for he and his good wife would not play with dolls, and toy cats, and wooden soldiers.

And you are right. There were children there, and I am glad of it, because a house without any children in it is too dull and quiet, and is not as pleasant as a house in which are the pattering of little feet, and the laughter of merry little hearts, and the smiles of happy little faces. A house without children is like a garden without buds.

If you want to know something of these children, read the next chapter.