An old gray house, surrounded by willows, in a blossomy brook valley, looked more promising, but did not seem quite the thing either.

The staring green abode further on was manifestly out of the question.

Then the stork brightened up.

He had caught sight of the very place--a little white house nestled against a big, whispering firwood, with a spiral of blue smoke winding up from its kitchen chimney--a house which just looked as if it were meant for babies.

The stork gave a sigh of satisfaction, and softly alighted on the ridge-pole.
Half an hour later Gilbert ran down the hall and tapped on the spare-room door.