By Florence Bartholomew There is a small, stone house between Wishram, Washington, and the approach to The Dalles bridge that everybody seems to be interested in, but no one seems to know anything about.

It stands there rather sadly as if waiting for someone who never comes.

In size, it is about 12 by 16, and is crudely built of native stone. It blends so well with the surrounding terrain that it can easily be missed by anyone who races by on the highway below.

Inside there are two small windows and a skylight. The glass panes have long ago been shattered, perhaps by small boys testing their pitching arms.But small pieces of glass adhering to the corners of the skylight show it was originally composed of wire mesh, about the size of chicken wire, which was sandwiched between heavy panes of glass. Over this was laid and solidly anchored a heavy iron grating. The ceiling is beamed and stained a warm brown, the beams being held in place with large, iron bolts.

The floor is of smoothly tamped and leveled earth. On the north wall of the room is a small fireplace and hearth.

Outside the only door, which is stained tile it warm brown as the beamed ceiling, a windbreak is built as a protection from the westerly winds.

There are many stories about this interesting stone hut.

One, that it was built many years ago before the advent of either railroad or highway. It was said four rich men from the city came to hunt every year near the spot. They came by boat up the Columbia River and camped at what is now called "Horse Thief Park." One year they decided to build permanent quarters they spent most of that camping trip piling stone instead of hunting. It was then provisioned and used for many years as a hunting lodge.

The only trouble with this story is that it is "made of whole cloth,” as our ancestors used to say. There was not a word of truth to this tale.

Another common story is that a young man suffering with tuberculosis came there to bask in the summer sun in hopes of regaining his failing health. Ill the beginning he lived in a tent. His health seemed to improve so he began building a more substantial abode. He did not live to complete his project and that is why it has no floor.

This story is good but unfortunately it also is not true.

Children like to believe it was a place of safety. A place to which white people ran when the Indians were on the warpath. There is no truth in this tale either for it was built long after the white man and red man became friends.

To get the real story I went to Mr. Fred Smith of Smithville. He was born in the area in 1879, and has spent his entire life there. He knew, and remembers well, the man who built the intriguing little stone house. This is the story as Mr. Smith tells it:

Many years ago, a family by the name of McNary owned a large amount of land south of the stone house and of the present 850 highway. They had a family of three boys and three girls.

An epidemic of diphtheria passed through the district and all became ill. In those days nothing could be done for this disease except to pray Many died and among those succumbing were two of the McNary girls. Their graves can be found over the hill from the stone house.

The mother was so distraught over this misfortune that the father decided to move to a new location.

He moved his family to Oregon, where his children grew up and were educated. One son, Charles, became a senator, representing Oregon in Washington, D. C. Another, named Laurance, became a corporation lawyer. It was Laurance, who, in his declining years, had the stone house built.

He was in his 60s and a sick man suffering from diabetes when he visited his childhood home. He remembered Rockland, as the district was called, and his childhood with nostalgia.

Mrs. McNary, having no youthful

Memories to bind her to the area, was not much impressed.

It became an obsession with Mr. McNary to build a weekend retreat where he spent so many happy days in his childhood. He was able to buy forty acres from the Indians, who owned the land, and his plans for a small stone hut were soon completed.

Laurance McNary did not want a big house or a fancy one. He wanted one of crude, natural stone. One, which would blend into the background as it, had always been there.

He hired an excellent stone mason, named Joe Studenecker, to do the work.

Mr. Studenecker was proud of the stone work he could do. He wanted to dress the stone and do a craftsmanship job. Both men were strong-willed but as Mr. McNary held the purse strings, the stone hut was built exactly to his specifications. He did, however, allow the stone mason to show the excellence of his work in a stone monument. It stands at the entrance of the lane, which leads up the hill to this interesting house. On it, cut in bold relief, is the word "Rockland." Mr. McNary spent many happy weekends in his retreat. He even enticed Mrs. McNary to spend a few there with him.

He found a spring of clear, cold water where the highway now runs. He installed a ram to lift the water up into the house. He put up a flagpole and when he was in residence the flag of our country fluttered gaily in the breeze.

No one has lived in the little hut since Laurance McNary died. If he could come back tomorrow, he would find it in excellent condition for he built well. It's as indestructible as the rocky crags on which it stands.

It is sad the little house is not being lived in today. It is a happy house. You can feel its hospitality as soon as you enter the door.