Not another dwelling was in sight, and it
was hard to guess what motive could have actuated the early settler who
had made his home in so unfriendly a spot.
Charity had picked up enough of her companion's erudition to understand
what had attracted him to the house. She noticed the fan-shaped tracery
of the broken light above the door, the flutings of the paintless
pilasters at the corners, and the round window set in the gable; and she
knew that, for reasons that still escaped her, these were things to
be admired and recorded. Still, they had seen other houses far more
"typical" (the word was Harney's); and as he threw the reins on the
horse's neck he said with a slight shiver of repugnance: "We won't stay
long."
Against the restless alders turning their white lining to the storm the
house looked singularly desolate. The paint was almost gone from the
clap-boards, the window-panes were broken and patched with rags, and the
garden was a poisonous tangle of nettles, burdocks and tall swamp-weeds
over which big blue-bottles hummed.
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