CHAPTER I.
THE NEW FARMER.
The new house at Woodlawn was nearly completed; and Mr. Curtis now set to work in earnest, clearing the grounds of the rubbish, in order to make the terraces and lay out his avenue in front.
Those who have read the other books about Bertie, will know that two wide avenues, enclosed by handsome iron gates, had been already made; one winding along on the shores of Lake Shawsheen, the other entering from a higher point which led through a grove toward the house where the enchanting view of lawn and water burst at once on the vision.
But in the vicinity of the house, no grading had been done, on account of the vast amount of bricks, lime, mortar-bins, wood and chips lying scattered in every direction.
The house, elegant in proportion and finish, stood about a hundred rods in front of a high, grassy mound, upon the top of which a cluster of chestnut-trees cast a pleasant shade.
The rich, green turf on the lawn which sloped to the lake, was dotted with magnificent old trees undisturbed for a century. Back of the house, or rather beyond the barn, was another swell or mound, which like the first, was so regular in its form as almost to excite the belief that it was artificial. Indeed, from the fact that two tomahawks were found buried in the spot where the barn stood, Mr. Curtis inferred that it might have been used for the grand council of the Indian tribe, and that here they buried all hostilities.
"Certainly," Mrs. Curtis remarked, "this was a pleasant view to take of it," and as there was no one to dispute the fact, the larger mound was called "Peace Mountain."