"And that's the only way we could afford it," Portia added, "because of buying the house and fixing it up and all."
They made the journey on a wonderful day: June at its most fragrant and expansive. Foster, to the relief of all, seemed to have outgrown his car sickness; and Gulliver, about whom there had been some doubt, proved to be a courteous passenger, neither trampling nor barking.
It was late afternoon when they turned in at the gates of the Villa Caprice. The road and driveway had been partly reclaimed from the woods, but were still far from smooth, the going was very jouncy. Emerging, finally, from the shade of new-leafed trees, the Blakes were surprised and charmed by what they saw. Eli Scaynes had made great headway with "The Property." The grass had been cut, and large areas of lawn were newly seeded. Bushes had been pruned, brush and brambles cleared away.
"It still looks wild, but sort of neatly wild," Portia said approvingly.
And the house looked so different! The porch was gone; the vine had been trimmed and the shutters painted. It was not beautiful, but it looked respectable. And in spite of looking respectable, it looked interesting.
"It's not a training school for witches any more, is it?" said Mr. Blake.
"No." Foster agreed. "Now it's a people's house."
Mr. Blake took one hand from the wheel and put his arm around Mrs. Blake's shoulders.
"Barbara, you've worked a miracle," he told her.
"Wait till you see the inside," said Mrs. Blake rather boastfully.