It was a small one-story building, looking very old even then. Over opposite, a pretty house stood on a slight elevation, that dated back to 1820, with its sloping lawn and green fields, its churn and bright milkpans standing out in the sunshine.
"We shall have to go round, as the frogs advise," said Mr. Whitney, looking about him with an air of consideration. "We might get through some of these driveways; but there seems to be no regular street."
"And if we go round?" commented Delia, questioningly.
"We go straight up this road until we come to a winding path called the Gully, then down to the river, where we shall find Herbert's, thence down the river to Cockloft Hall. But we will return by the upper railroad, as we shall be near that."
"Come on, then," said Dele, laughingly, when her brother had ended his explanations, "if you can go straight on a crooked road; and if Hanny gets tired, Ben and I will make a chair and carry her."
Joe smiled down at his little sister. He had linked his arm within hers. Ben and Delia were fond of falling behind. They were so merry, that Hanny was a little curious to know what they found to laugh about. It does not take much to amuse healthy young people before their tastes become complicated.
The old road wound a little, and had the curves that prove no one horse or man ever walks in a straight line. But, oh, how beautiful it was with the fruit-trees and shrubbery in bloom, wild flowers, and stretches of meadow, where cows were pastured, and here and there a small flock of sheep! Up above, on the brow of a hill, a wooded background gave it a still more picturesque appearance.
They passed an old stone house on the west side that was really a Revolutionary relic. The stone ran up to the eaves; but the two gables were of timber. It was on quite a bit of hill then, and had broken stone steps up to the first terrace, where great clumps of brownish yellow lilies were in bloom. When strolling parties of British soldiery went marauding about, the residents of this vicinity used to flee to the old Plum house as a place of refuge. The heavy double doors and wooden shutters could not well be battered down, though bullet-marks could be traced here and there.
A Captain Alden lived in it now, who was himself quite a character. He had been in the British navy, with Admiral Nelson's command. When his time in the service ended, he had shipped with what he understood was a merchant vessel, but on learning it was a slaver, bound for Africa to gather up a human cargo, he sprang overboard, when he saw a vessel passing that halted for his signal. Several shots were fired at him, which he escaped. Later on, he was impressed in the naval service again, but at the first opportunity came to America. A hale, hearty old man, rather short in stature, but lithe and active, and with a merry look on his weather-beaten face, he was still proud of his schooner that lay at Stone Dock, at the launching of which, in the early part of the century, the Jersey Blues had turned out, and Major Stevens had christened it the "Northern Liberties." It had been all built of Essex County lumber, and constructed on the Passaic. But the river had been quite a famous stream in those days. There were no factories using up its volume of water.
They sat on the stone coping and listened to the Captain's stories, indeed, could have spent all the afternoon, so entertaining did he prove. Then he took them through the old house with its ample hall and spacious rooms on one side. They concluded it must have been able to stand quite a siege, judging from its present solidity. And Mrs. Alden treated them to a pitcher of freshly churned buttermilk, and a slice of excellent rye bread, which they found delightful.