Look at that veteran oak. It's good for seventy
more years." He backed the horse off so we could



218 THE WOMAN FROM WOLVERTON

view the lot from the opposite bank. " Nothing could
be built to cut off this cross-road view, Polly." Lem's
enthusiasm warmed up. He was laying the walls of a
home, stone by stone.
" I have an idea of a brick house with rough cob-
ble-stone pillars and a wide, hospitable piazza run-
ning round two sides. We could have honeysuckle
climbing over it. In a year or two it would bury
the house — nothing grows here like honeysuckle.
A driveway could be cut to run up the slope, then
down on the other side. We would want a low stone
parapet around the bank. It looks as if a freshet
washed through here in the spring. In a new place
like this one is sure of the best sort of neighbors,
because when it 's laid out, they won't allow a house
built that costs less than $12,000. What do you
think of it, Polly?"

" Why, I think, — it 's — a paradise."

" I knew it would hit your fancy."

The horse began to stretch its neck. An old barrel
had been sunk in soft mud at the corner of "our"
lot. A brook trickled down the bank, flowing into
the moss-grown trough with a quiet gurgle. Lem
jumped out, led the horse across the road and undid
the check rein. The animal buried its nose in the
cool water and sucked it up with slow content. Lem
stood beside, waiting till its thirst was quenched.
