of railing sagging down, a board loose at
the corner--which seemed to speak of the pluperfect tense. In a
fragment of garden at one side, where a broken trellis led to an arbor
more than half hidden by vines, we saw a lady, clad in black, walking
slowly among the bewildered roses and clumps of hemerocallis, stooping
now and then to pluck a flower or tenderly to lift and put aside a
straggling branch.

"This is plainly the mistress of the house," said Master Thomas; "does
thee think that we could make bold to speak with her upon the subject
of fresh eggs?"

"I think," said I, "that with thy friendly tact thee could speak with
anybody upon any subject."

"But my coat?" said Master Thomas, for he had left it in the boat.

"'Tis a warm day, Master Thomas," I answered, "and doubtless the lady
will know that thee has a coat, when she hears thee speak. But in any
event, it is wise not to think too much of these mundane things. Let us
go up."

So we made our salutations, stated our names and our occupations, and
described the voyage which had brought us to Watermouth, in a way that
led naturally to an explanation of our present need and desire for
fresh eggs: though indeed it was hardly necessary to be explicit on
that point, for our little tin pail betrayed us as foragers. The lady
in black received us with gracious dignity, identified and placed us
without difficulty (indeed she knew some relation of each of us), and
gave us hospitable assurance that our wants in the matter of eggs could
easily be satisfied. Meantime we must come up to the house with her and
rest ourselves.

Rest was not an imperative necessity for us just then, but we were glad
to see the interior of the old mansion. There was the long
drawing-room, with its family portraits running back into the
eighteenth century--one of them an admirable painting by Sully--and the
library, with its tall book-shelves, now empty, and engravings and
autographs hanging on the walls. The lady in black was rather sad; for
her father, a distinguished publicist and man of letters, had built
this house; and her grandfather, a great iron-master, had owned most of
the land hereabouts; and the roots and tendrils of her memory were all
entwined about the place; but now she was dismantling it and closing it
up, preparatory to going away, perhaps to selling it.

By this time the tin pail had come in, filled with the nutritious fruit
of the industrious and faithful hen. So we s