Brook Ridge.

IV

_The soft feet of the rain on the shingles_

When the articles I had chosen from the apartment arrived Westbury
carted them up the hill and we entered into possession of our new
estate--not of the house (some painters had possessed themselves of
that), but of the wood-house and barn. The barn was a big, airy place,
suitable for a summer dormitory. The wood-house was not big, but it was
empty and had been set in order. It had a stove-pipe hole, and Westbury
contributed a stove--the first one ever made, he said, or, at any rate,
the first ever used in that neighborhood. It was a good stove, too,
solidly cast, almost unbreakable. Its legs were gone, which was no great
matter, for we set it up on bricks. With a box for a table, we had a
proper living-room, handy and complete.

Not entirely complete, either--the old stove had no pipe. But just then
it happened that the groceryman came along, making one of his two trips
a week. He would deliver during the afternoon, he said, and could bring
along some pipe for us. He did that, but it was a kind of pipe that
didn't fit--not very well.

If there is anything that would make a man forget the Great War it
would be putting up stove-pipe. It seems, somehow, to overshadow all
other misfortunes. Some persons might have enjoyed matching up those
units, but I did not. I have no gift that way. Elizabeth said she would
help, but she didn't seem to use good judgment--not the best. When I was
making a painfully careful adjustment she was possessed to push a
little, or something, and make my efforts futile. Once when the box I
was standing on tipped over and I came down, with the pipe resolved into
joints, she seemed to think it amusing. At times, too, our tribe of
precious ones came racing through. By the time the job was finished
Elizabeth and I were treating each other rather coolly--that is to say,
politely. But this was temporary. The soft purr of a fresh fire, the
pleasant singing of a kettle, set us to laughing at our troubles. Man
Westbury came driving up with some green corn, lettuce, and beans from
the garden; also a chicken and a pie hot from Lady Westbury's oven.
Those blessed neighbors! How good they were to us! In less than no time
the corn and beans were in the pot and I was dressing the lettuce. We
had brought down some of the old chairs from the attic, and the tribe
assembled with a whoop to place them. A little more, and we were seated.
The Hope,