“I think the man owning the White House (I forget his name) must keep wild animals, for he has had the little wood, which you may have noticed is close to the house, wired in, ten feet high. I never saw such a thing in my life. It is small mesh wire-netting he has used, and barbed wire is put on it in rows fairly close together. My cowman says this man is building something in the wood, for loads of brick have been delivered.”
“A private menagerie, I expect,” said Philip. “Who and what is the man? He will be my nearest neighbor.”
“I don’t know,” answered Pickett, “though I did hear his name. He is rich, I should think, for he bought the White House and the wood at a big price, and he does nothing, so far as I know, for a living. There is a woman and her daughter with him, but they never seem to go out. They are very close sort of people, and the servants they brought with them from Canada are as close as the master.”
“Canada? Did they come from Canada?” exclaimed Philip.
“I heard so, sir.”
Mrs. Pickett here spoke.
“I heard this morning, sir, that the poor young lady is not quite right in her head, and that is why they keep to themselves. It was the agent who sold the house to them told me that.”
“Good God!” cried Philip. “I believe I know who these people are. Is the name Alvin?”
“That’s it, right enough, sir,” said the farmer; “and I remember now that the lady is called Brittain, or some such name.”
“Le Breton,” corrected Philip.