Robin Hood's Barn 



I took a liking to it at first sight. And not the 

 tepid feeling that makes a woman warm to her 

 one chance. True, it was a mere frame house, 

 not much to look at in the common parlance. A 

 child might easily have planned it, adding its 

 wide porch as a fine place to romp on and extend- 

 ing it above the marsh that it might have the 

 semblance of a deck almost a-wash above the 

 rising tide. What I saw in the place, I should — 

 to worldly minded folk, sure to think I might do 

 better — find it most difficult to explain. But 

 it had a character its own. A candor that was 

 not my blurting frankness, close following each 

 attempt at reticence. It had no failings which 

 in a shame-faced way, it felt called on to "dis- 

 cuss." Even its drive, its urn, its wooden chim- 

 ney caught drying off upon the grass, left it com- 

 pletely unabashed. Suppose they were all wrong, 

 though to it they seemed all right. Even so — 

 there was its youth, its newness. Mellowness 

 and dignity? Those came with years, the touch 

 of time. What it offered was a trig readiness for 

 the play of wind and weather. The fun was all 

 before. Tranquillity and brooding hush? What 



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