he front steps, the doctor's house with the yellow
laburnum tree, and then the house where the Disagreeable Woman lives.
She has a lovely baby, which, to begin with, is somewhat remarkable,
as disagreeable women rarely have babies; or else, having had them,
rapidly lose their disagreeableness,--so rapidly that one has not time
to notice it. The Disagreeable Woman's house is at the end of the row,
and across the road is a wicket gate leading--Where did it lead?--that
was the very point. Along the left, as you lean wistfully over the
gate, there runs a stone wall topped by a green hedge; and on the
right, first furrows of pale fawn, then below, furrows of deeper
brown, and mulberry, and red ploughed earth stretching down to waving
fields of green, and thence to the sea, gray, misty, opalescent,
melting into the pearly white clouds, so that one cannot tell where
sea ends and sky begins.

There is a path between the green hedge and the ploughed field, and it
leads seductively to the farm-steadin'; or we felt that it might thus
lead, if we dared unlatch the wicket gate. Seeing no sign "Private
Way," "Trespassers Not Allowed," or other printed defiance to the
stranger, we were considering the opening of the gate, when we
observed two female figures coming toward us along the path, and
paused until they should come through. It was the Disagreeable Woman
(though we knew it not) and an elderly friend. We accosted the friend,
feeling instinctively that she was framed of softer stuff, and asked
her if the path were a private one. It was a question that had never
met her ear before, and she was too dull or too discreet to deal with
it on the instant. To our amazement, she did not even manage to
falter, "I couldna say."

"Is the path private?" I repeated.

"It is certainly the idea to keep it a little private," said the
Disagreeable Woman, coming into the conversation without being
addressed. "Where do you wish to go?"

"Nowhere in particular. The walk looks so inviting we should like to
see the end."

"It goes only to the Farm, and you can reach that by the highroad; it
is only a half-mile farther. Do you wish to call at the Farm?"

"No, oh no; the path is so very pretty that"--

"Yes, I see; well, I should call it rather private." And with this she
departed; leaving us to stand on the outskirts of paradise, while she
went into her house and stared at us from the window as she played
with the lovely undeserved baby. But th