, the rich woodlands and fertile fields, the
marvelous lights and shadows ever holding the one looking upon it
entranced. And all this lay before the broad acres of Woodbine, so named
because that graceful vine hung in rich festoons from every column,
gallery, portico and even the eaves to which it had climbed, a delicate
gray-green adornment in early spring, a rich, darker tone in midsummer,
and a gorgeous crimson in the autumn.

It was a spacious old mansion and would have been considered a large one
even in the north, where, during the past fifty years, palaces have
sprung into existence under the misnomer of "cottages." Happily, it did
not tower up into the air as many of the so-called cottages do, but
spread itself comfortably over the greensward, the central building being
the only one ambitious enough to attain to two stories and a sharply
peaked roof, in which were set several dormer windows from which a most
entrancing view of the valley and distant mountain ranges could be
obtained.

These dormer window chambers were rarely used, and, excepting during the
semi-annual house cleaning, rarely visited. That one of these rare visits
should have been paid one of them upon this particular day of which we
are writing was simply Kismet. But of that a little later. Let us finish
our picture of lovely Woodbine.

Across the entire front of the main floor as well as the second story,
ran a wide piazza, gallery they call it in that part of the country. The
lower gallery gave upon a broad, velvety lawn dotted with elms, beeches,
oaks and feathery pines. No path led to this gallery, and when one
stepped from it one's feet sank into the softest green turf. The door
which opened upon it fairly spoke hospitality and welcome from its
beautiful fan-like arch to its diamond-paned side lights and the hall
within was considered one of the more perfect specimens of the
architecture of its period to be found in the state, as was the stately
circular double stairway leading to the floor above. Half way up, upon a
broad landing, a stained glass window, brought long, long ago from
England, let the western sunlight filter through its richly tinted panes
and lie in patches of exquisite color upon polished stairs and floor.

At the north and south ends of the house were the real entrances from the
carefully raked, wide driveway which described almost a complete circle
from the great stone gateway half a mile across Woodbine's lawn. Could