tradition asserted that the Father of his Country had not
suffered a twinge of neuralgia while at Villa Valley.

"A Perfect Snuggery" did not belie its name, but in size and ventilation
forcibly suggested a chicken coop.

"Charming Swiss Cottage" seemed to be a remodeled pig-stye, from which
objectionable matter had not been removed. "The House in the Woods" was
approachable only through water half-way up to the carriage body; so we
regretfully abandoned pursuit of it.

"Silver Lake!" exclaimed Sophronia, reading from the memoranda she had
penciled from the agent's descriptive list. "_That_, I am sure, will
suit us. Don't you remember, Pierre, my presentiment about a lake at
Villa Valley?"

I remembered, by a little stretch of my imagination. But, alas! for the
uncertainty even of the presentiments of one of Nature's most
impressible children. The "lake" was a pond, perhaps twenty feet in
diameter; an antiquated boot, two or three abandoned milk cans, and a
dead cat, reposed upon its placid beach; and from a sheltered nook upon
its southerly side, an early-aroused frog appeared, inquiringly, and
uttered a cry of surprise--or, perhaps, of warning.

"Take me away?" exclaimed Sophronia, "It was a dream--a fateful dream."

"New Cottage, with all modern improvements," seemed really to justify
its title; but Sophronia declined to look farther than its outside.

"I could never be happy in that house, Pierre," said she, with emphasis;
"it looks to be entirely new."

"'Tis, ma'am," declared the agent; "the last coat of paint hasn't been
on a month."

"So I divined," replied Sophronia. "And so it is simply a lifeless mass
of boards and plaster--no loving heartthrobs ever consecrated its
walls--no tender romances have been woven under its eaves--no wistful
yearnings--no agonies of parting have made its chambers instinct with
life--no--"

"I declare!" exclaimed the agent; "excuse me for interrupting, ma'am,
but I believe I've got the very house you're looking for. How would you
like a rambling, old family homestead, a hundred years old, with quaint,
wide fireplaces, high mantels, overhanging eaves, a heavy screen of
evergreens, vines clambering over everything, a great wide hall--"

"Exquisite--charming--enchanting--paradisaical--divine!" murmured
Sophronia.

"And the rent is only three hundred dollars," continued the agent.

This latter bit of information aroused _my_ strongest sentiment, and I
begged the agent to