"Yes," replied Hildegarde. "But it was 'Cranford' that made me think of it. And it isn't 'pine-tree,' after all. I looked, and found it was 'cedar.' Mr. Holbrook, you remember,—Miss Matty's old lover,—quotes it, when they are taking tea with him. Dear Miss Matty! do you think Cousin Wealthy is the least little bit like her, Rose?"
"Perhaps!" said Rose, thoughtfully. "I think—Oh, Hilda, look!" she cried, breaking off suddenly. "What a queer little house!"
Hildegarde checked Dr. Abernethy, who had been trotting along quite briskly, and they both looked curiously at the little house on their left, which certainly was "queer,"—a low, unpainted shanty, gray with age, the shingles rotting off, and moss growing in the chinks. The small panes of glass were crusted with dirt, and here and there one had been broken, and replaced with brown paper. The front yard was a tangle of ribbon-grass and clover; but a tuft of straggling flowers here and there showed that it had once had care and attention. There was no sign of life about the place.
"Rose!" cried Hildegarde, stopping the horse with a pull of the reins; "it is a deserted house. Do you know that I have never seen one in my life? I must positively take a peep at it, and see what it is like inside. Take the reins, Bonne Silène, while I go and reconnoitre the position." She jumped out, and making her way as best she might through the grassy tangle, was soon gazing in at one of the windows. "Oh!" she cried, "it isn't deserted, Rose! At least?—well, some one has been here. But, oh, me! oh, me! What a place! I never, never dreamed of such a place. I—"
"What is the matter?" cried Rose. "If you don't tell me, I shall jump out!"
"No, you won't!" said Hildegarde. "You'd better not, Miss! but oh, dear! who ever, ever dreamed of such a place? My dear, it is the Abode of Dirt. Squalid is no word for it; squalor is richness compared to this house. I am looking—sit still, Rose!—I am looking into a room about as big as a comfortable pantry. There is a broken stove in it, and a table, and a stool; and in the room beyond I can see a bed,—at least, I suppose it is meant for a bed. Oh! what person can live here?"
"I am coming, Hilda," said Rose. "The only question is whether I get out with your help or without."
"Obstinate Thing!" cried Hildegarde, flying to her assistance. "Well, it shall see the lovely sight, so it shall. Carefully, now; don't trip on these long grass-loops. There! isn't that a pretty place? Now enjoy yourself, while I get out the tie-rein, and fasten the good beast to a tree."
In hunting for the tie-rein under the seat of the carriage, Hildegarde discovered something else which made her utter an exclamation of surprise. "Luncheon!" she cried. "Rose, my dear, did you know about this basket? Saint Martha must have put it in. Turnovers, Rose! sandwiches, Rose! and, I declare, a bottle of milk and a tin cup. Were ever two girls so spoiled as we shall be?"
