"But I should think the tree would be dead."
"Well, you see the life of a tree is right under the bark. If you can keep the outer covering intact, the tree will live."
"Why did you let the holes get so deep?"
"I've just come here. The house was like the tree the shingles all rotten, but the beams were sound. Those beams were hewn out of the forest two hundred and fifty years ago."
"Gracious!" said Janet. "And how old is the tree?"
"I should say about a hundred. I suppose it wouldn't care to admit it."
"How do you know?" she inquired.
"Oh, I'm very intimate with trees. I find out their secrets."
"It's your house!" she exclaimed, somewhat appalled by the discovery.
"Yes—yes it is," he answered, looking around at it and then in an indescribably comical manner down at his clothes. His gesture, his expression implied that her mistake was a most natural one.