As Milton bade Annie good bye, clasping her hand in his, he for a moment looked deep into the starry eyes, then bending he touched his lips tenderly to hers. Thus he left them. “Will it be for their good?” he asked himself. “Ah, well; time will tell!” Twenty-four hours later he held Alice in his arms, pressing burning kisses upon her sweet lips, while Lawrence saw and understood all. For Lawrence, in company with the others, had returned during Milton’s absence, and could well afford to smile, for had not a pair of serious gray eyes smiled him a welcome which had the promise of heaven in it?
What had been the result of the prospecting tour? A rare, sweet spot of Mother Earth had been found, with just enough of rugged wildness to show to advantage nature’s grandeur. Mountains in the distance; a rolling, undulating country; a winding river and the glassy bosom of the lake. Last, but not least, the towers and chimney pots of a distant city. All this could be seen from the rounded knoll gently sloped to its base, around which wound a merry rippling brooklet.
Thence a level meadow land which could be laid out in lovely lawns, parks and drives. Still farther on patches of woodland to the right and left; meadows with lowing cattle; a charming spot indeed, surrounded by nature’s loveliest scenes. Only about ten minutes walk to the little station-house south of the knoll, where almost every hour of the day trains passed and stopped, and which in forty minutes would carry you to the heart of the city. But it was not until the early days of August that ground was broken and work begun upon the mansion that was to stand a pattern and a beacon for the generations to come. The winter months put an end to the work and the long stormy evenings were again spent as before. But again spring returned and again the work was resumed.
At the same time hot-houses were built; a vineyard laid out; orchards planted with rare fruit trees, and berry patches cultivated. Grounds were laid out; drives made; miniature lakes appeared; grassy knolls; groups of trees; charming arbors; inviting summer-houses; cozy retreats and lovers’ nooks. To produce all this meant work—work to many willing hands; bread to hungry mouths. Owen paid the bills with generous hand, while each day at lunch time the workers enjoyed an hour or two of repose and shelter from the sun.
CHAPTER XXXXIV.
Another winter came and still the home was not finished, but now the work on the buildings could still go on, as it was mainly within doors and under shelter. In the heated rooms the skilled workmen found their tasks easy, and under their hands the rooms were rapidly turned into bowers of beauty and use. The gardeners were kept busy during all the winter months and in the early springtime commenced their outdoor work of beautifying the place. Fountains, statues and other objects of beauty and use grew as if by magic. The hot-houses and conservatories were wonders of beauty and elegance. Then came the work of furnishing the building. Again money was not spared to make everything perfect. Every nook and arch contained some rare piece of art—of sculptured work. Exquisite paintings graced the walls. Breakfast and noonday meals were to be taken in what was called the breakfast room. This room was arranged simply for comfort—warm and cozy for the winter, cool and shaded for the summer. The furniture was covered with leather. The breakfast was to be simple, consisting principally of milk, grain foods and fruits. The mid-day meal to which it was expected few would gather was again simple—fruits and nuts playing a leading part.
But in the evening when all should be gathered together to enjoy as well as eat—but we are anticipating—too eager to lift the veil from the future. Let us wait, rather, until all our dear friends shall be gathered, to partake of their first evening meal here in the new home; for the present let us go on with our description of this glorious structure.
And yet, how shall we describe it? The most vivid fancy fails to do it justice. The corridors, whose floors are inlaid with tile; the marble staircases; the painted walls; the carved ceilings; the cozy private rooms—each in itself a gem; books and music to be found in them all; each a sanctum for the owner thereof. The library, the music room and the drawing room, each perfect as to form and dimensions; each flooded with brilliant light, or softly toned down as the fancy would demand or occasion call for, yet all arranged so as not to cause needless work.
It was the desire and expectation of this happy household to have such only move about the rooms as were fairly intelligent and cultured. “We don’t want them to be servants, who do the work in this home.” Owen had remarked, “but comrades and mates, each doing a share. No drones. Drones and idlers do not deserve to enjoy.”
Among the details worthy of particular mention were the bath rooms. Not little tubs wherein one person could scarce recline, but a bath in which the bather could splash and swim and romp, not a bath in which false modesty would allow a single occupant only, but one in which a bevy of bathers could enjoy the luxury at the same time. Hot and cold water; steam baths and shower baths—O what a blessing in the cleansing, purifying element! bringing health and strength to all who are wise enough to rightly use it. Just watch the healthy babe in the bath, as it kicks and splashes and screams with delight. Was there ever a more beautiful sight?