Mr. Curtis stopped the horses, and leaning from the carriage, gazed all about him. It was indeed a lovely view. The village of Oxford was situated in a valley sheltered on three sides by hills; and here in a little cleft between them a small lake lay nestled, almost shut from view by the thick trees which grew down close to the banks.
As the gentleman gazed right and left, his eye at last rested on a slight elevation where the ground was more open, and from which it ran down with a gentle slope to the water. The green here and there was dotted with a fine spreading elm, or a huge oak, which looked as if they might have weathered the storms of a hundred years.
"What are you stopping so long for, papa?" asked Bertie, wondering at his father's unusual silence.
He did not seem to hear the question, for he presently turned to his wife and asked, smiling,—
"Would you like a house on that hill, Cecilia? There, just beyond the cluster of chestnut trees, is the spot I should choose."
"Oh, Lawrence! everything seems so quiet and peaceful in this neat village, a home there would be almost a paradise."
After one more glance at the fresh greensward, where the summer sun was casting such pleasant shadows under the grand old trees, Mr. Curtis spoke to the horses to go on, the road winding round the lake so that except for the trees they could have seen it for half a mile.
Presently he stopped a man at the side of the road, and asked,—
"Is there a tavern in this village?"
"No, sir," was the smiling reply; "there's little need of a tavern here, so far away from the world."