children in stories, and I want to hear
all about this 'ruined castle' I've come to live in, I mean 'dwell,' for
story-book girls--'maidens'--never do anything so commonplace as just
'live.' Hally, boy, there's a lot of humbug in this world."

"How did you find that out, Miss Experience?"

"I didn't trouble to find it, I just read it. I thought it sounded sort
of nice and old, so I said it."

"Humph! Well, do you want to hear, or will you keep interrupting?"

"I do want to hear, and I probably shall interrupt. I am not blind to
my own besetting sins."

"Listen. Just as great-grandfather had everything fixed to his taste and
was enjoying life to the utmost, old Jacob came here to this knoll that
faces Fairacres--Oh, you needn't turn around to see. The trees have
grown again, and the view is hidden. On this knoll, if there was
anything tall, it would spoil the Fairacres' view. So Jacob built this
'Spite House.' He made it as ugly as he could, and he did everything
outrageous to make great-grandfather disgusted. He named this rocky
barren 'Bareacre,' and that little gully yonder he called 'Glenpolly,'
because his enemy had named the beautiful ravine we know as 'Glenellen.'
Polly and Ellen were the wives' names, and I've heard they grieved
greatly over the quarrel. Mr. Ingraham painted huge signs with the names
on them, and hung up scarecrows on poles, because he wouldn't let a tree
grow here, even if it could. There are a few now, though. Look like old
plum trees. My, what a home for our mother!"

Amy's face sobered again, as she regarded the ugly stone structure which
still looked strong enough to defy all time, but which no lapse of years
had done much to beautify. Nothing had ever thrived at Bareacre, which
was, in fact, a hill of apparently solid stone, sparsely covered by the
poorest of soil. The house was big, for the Ingraham family had been
numerous, but it was as square and austere as the builders could make
it. The roof ended exactly at the walls, which made it look, as Amy
said, "like a girl with her eyelashes cut off." There were no blinds or
shutters of any sort, and nothing to break the bleak winds which swept
down between the hills of Ardsley, and which nipped the life of any
brave green thing that tried to make a hold there. A few mullein stalks
were all that flourished, and the stunted fruit trees which Hallam had
noticed seemed but a pitiful parody upon the rich verdure of the
elsewhere favored regi