n at length, when
cousin Matthew bought it, and came there from the city to live years
before. He was a strange man; indeed, I know now that all the
possessors of the Ferry farm must have been strange men. One often
hears of the influence of climate upon character; there is a strong
influence of place; and the inanimate things which surround us indoors
and out make us follow out in our lives their own silent
characteristics. We unconsciously catch the tone of every house in
which we live, and of every view of the outward, material world which
grows familiar to us, and we are influenced by surroundings nearer and
closer still than the climate or the country which we inhabit. At the
old Haverford house it was a mystery which one felt when one entered
the door; and when one came away, after cordiality, and days of
sunshine and pleasant hospitality, it was still with a sense of this
mystery, and of something unseen and unexplained. Not that there was
any thing covered and hidden necessarily; but it was the quiet
undertone in the house which had grown to be so old, and had known the
magnificent living of Colonel Haverford's time, and afterward the
struggles of poor gentlemen and women, who had hardly warmed its walls
with their pitiful fires, and shivering, hungry lives; then the long
procession of travellers who had been sheltered there in its old tavern
days; finally, my cousin Matthew and his wife, who had made it their
home, when, with all their fortune, they felt empty-handed, and as if
their lives were ended, because their only son had died. Here they had
learned to be happy again in a quiet sort of way, and had become older
and serener, loving this lovable place by the river, and keepers of its
secret--whatever that might be.

I was wide awake that first evening: I was afraid of being sent to bed,
and, to show cousin Agnes that I was not sleepy, I chattered far more
than usual. It was warm, and the windows of the parlour where we sat
looked upon the garden. The moon had risen, and it was light out of
doors. I caught every now and then the faint smell of honeysuckle, and
presently I asked if I might go into the garden a while; and cousin
Agnes gave me leave, adding that I must soon go to bed, else I would be
very tired next day. She noticed that I looked grave, and said that I
must not dread being alone in a strange room, for it was so near her
own. This was a great consolation; and after I had been told tha