er they took the wrong road and had to start over,
the keener they became to reach their destination.

"I believe it was a pipe-dream," said Mr. Ranny; "you never saw the place
at all."

"Yes, I did! I'm not kidding you. It's a regular peach of a place for
anybody that's got money to fix it up. Hold on a minute; this looks like
the side lane. Do you mind walking the rest of the way?"

"Not if we get anywhere," said Mr. Ranny.

Their way led through a tangled thicket, across a log bridge, and up a
steep hillside abloom from base to summit with early spring flowers. Down
through the tender green leaves the sunshine poured, searching out many
nooks and corners at which it would get no chance when the heavier
foliage intervened.

"This is where the land begins," said Quin. "Did you ever see such bully
old trees? Any time you wanted to sell off lots, you see, you could do it
on this side, without touching the farm."

"Where's the house?" asked Mrs. Ranny.

"Right through here," said Quin, holding back the branches, "Now, ain't
that a nice old place?"

His enthusiasm met with no response.

In the center of what had once been a clearing stood an old stone
building, half smothered in a wilderness of weeds and sassafras and cane,
its one big chimney dreaming in the silence that seemed to have
encompassed it for ages. The shutters hung disconsolate on their hinges,
the window-panes were broken, the cornice sagged dejectedly.

Eleanor's heart sank. It was worse, far worse, than Papa Claude had
described it, fit only for the birds and spiders and chipmunks that were
already in possession. How Quin could ever for a moment have thought of
selling such a place to the fastidious Bartletts was more than she could
imagine.

But he was carrying the matter off with a high hand, in spite of the
dismayed faces of his prospective buyers.

"Of course it needs a shave," he admitted, as he tore down a handful of
trailing vines that barred the front door. "But you just wait till you
get inside and see the big stone fireplace and the queer cupboards. Why,
this house is historic! It's been here since pioneer days. Look out for
the floor; it's a bit rotten along here."

"I don't think I'll come in," said Mrs. Ranny, holding up her skirts.

"What a funny little staircase!" cried Eleanor. "And what huge rooms! You
_must_ come in, Aunt Flo, and see the fireplace."

"And look at the walls!" cried Quin. "You don't see walls like those