The Old Stone House. 59 



without speaking; no wonder that we opened the cup- 

 board doors gently, lest their creaking in some way might 

 be a rude interruption. Empty bottles stood on the 

 shelves, a straw hat lay there also, and over all had settled 

 a fine dust that had been brought by the vagrant wind. 



We got down on our knees and measured the broad 

 boards of- the floor with a rule, inspected the front door, 

 remarkable for its massive solidity, and made in two parts, 

 as is now again the fashion. Thus we wandered from 

 room to room, and learned the plan of the structure, that 

 must have been so deeply imprinted in the minds of its 

 many former occupants, now in their graves in the field. 

 Indeed, it is a curious knowledge we have of our homes ; 

 like the rabbit's information of the clover in the field, 

 there are many things that can be known only to us. 



So the house was strange, and the tones of our voices 

 were new to its walls. The sigh of the wind was the same 

 as we had heard elsewhere, and even the outlooks reminded 

 us of similar scenes miles away. But we lingered at the 

 little window that looked between the poplars, down the 

 lane. It was one of those garden views wherein the 

 blending of nature with the artificial has made a pleasing 

 result. Perhaps it was strengthened by the knowledge of 

 antiquity, by the old fence, the poplars falling to decay, 

 and by the rank, tall weeds along the hedge, that seemed 

 to bespeak a strong vitality still, though their stems were 

 dead from the cold. 



Is it any wonder that we searched the garret well ? for 

 the greatest treasures of an old house are most often there. 

 The bottles and straw hats may be kept in the cupboard 



