I was very much interested, but how tired I was! My eyes ached from the bright sunshine and gazing at such far-away things. I rather longed for the cool, quiet streets, and the opposite houses of Beacon Hill. However, this was only my first day, and I felt that I should soon love this beautiful scenery. Cats are sensitive as well as human beings; they hate dull and sordid surroundings.
Up one more gentle hill, along a level road, and then the farmer spoke again. “Here is our young orchard, and there are the farm buildings.”
Mary let me slip to the seat, and slowly but eagerly, raised herself to her feet. “Papa, papa, was this your very home?”
Mr. Denville nodded his head. “My very home, but I scarcely recognize it. This orchard land used to be covered with a spruce grove. The barn is new, and the house has been changed.”
At this moment, Mr. Gleason turned swiftly from the road to a short avenue of maple-trees, and drew up in front of a good-sized house with a green lawn before it.
Mrs. Denville put up her eyebrows. “This does not look like an old-fashioned farm-house, Harold,” she remarked.
“No, it has been altered,” he said, “the old house has been put on top of the new one.”
“Why, I never heard of such a thing,” said Mrs. Denville, and little Mary exclaimed, “But, papa, how could they do it?”
“After my father's death the place was sold,” continued Mr. Denville, “and the new owner lifted the framework of the old house, and built under it. We will go over the house, and I will show you what is new and what is old. Let us get out now. There is Mrs. Gleason.”
A white-faced, thin, quiet-looking woman with a blue apron on was standing on the veranda at the end of the house. She was smiling kindly, and stepping quietly forward, she shook hands with the Denvilles. Mrs. Denville and Mary went in the house with her, but I stayed to greet Serena and Slyboots. The express wagon was just turning in the avenue.