HOUSE AND GARDEN 
106 
February, 
1914 
thin snow. Behind, the irregular ground sloped down to what 
we later learned to be the ancient post-coach highway to Boston. 
As we stood behind the house, we overlooked the neighbors’ 
1 oofs, for the house was on the crown of a hill. Across a valley 
the rolling greenness 
of a links, and be¬ 
yond, the hills. 
The property itself 
was undeveloped; 
the soil thin with oc¬ 
casional outcrop¬ 
pings of rock. There 
were many maple, 
locust and mulberry 
trees, a great lilac 
hedge along the 
western boundary, 
and a few scattered 
shrubs and bushes, 
but no attempt at 
paths or flowers nor 
any way of driving 
from either road to 
a barn behind the 
house at the hill- 
edge. The place had 
possibilities, however; 
that was evident. 
Its altitude gave it 
the privacy and isolation we desired. A little clearing up was 
needed; rubbish and ashes had been dumped in one place; an 
undesirable out-house was unpleasantly evident; a wing with 
out-kitchen and wood-shed unworthily commanded the great view 
to the north. 
We peered through 
the sidelights of the 
rear door. Dimly we 
made out the stair¬ 
way arch, the curved 
mahogany handrail 
and banisters and the 
leaded fan-light of 
the entrance door be¬ 
yond. Nothing else 
could be seen for it 
was nearly night. 
We pried here and 
there until, cold and 
hungry, the thought 
of dinner tempted us 
away. 
We stayed over 
near by and went 
through the house 
next morning with a 
man who had the 
keys. We were then 
confident we had 
f o u n d what we 
wanted and ended by 
offering to rent with 
the privilege of buy¬ 
ing. Negotiations followed; the owner refused, as for certain 
family reasons he must get rid of it at once; but if we would 
buy it outright we might have it for what seems to have been far 
less than its value. We were both fascinated by the place. It 
was just what we wanted, just the sort of place we had in mind. 
“Buy it, certainly,” said D. 
“You old fraud,” said I, “you agreed to rent; now you want 
to buy? It’s idiotic! I've never commuted except for a month 
or two in summer, 
perhaps; this means 
a fifty minute ride !” 
“Well, if it is too 
much we can sell it 
again!” 
“Yes, I suppose we 
can ; but selling is so 
slow. I ’ll make a 
bargain with you, 
though. I’ll offer 
him a thousand less, 
if, in case he refuses, 
you’ll agree to rent 
something somewhere 
else and give up any 
idea of buying for the 
present.” 
D. agreed; a letter 
was sent. She spent 
an agitated twenty- 
four hours, I remem¬ 
ber, for it seemed to 
her a wonderful op¬ 
portunity ; then the 
answer came and we were the prospective owners of a house! 
The transfer of title was arranged; we inspected it again; our 
enthusiasm grew. Eagerly we planned what we should do to im¬ 
prove it, to fit it to our own personalities. The grounds behind 
the house should be 
developed and made 
the center of our out¬ 
door life. 
“Let’s have the up- 
and-down-hill graded 
flat and that rock 
blasted away; we can 
have a tennis court 
here!” said I. 
“Let’s move the 
barn out of the 
‘view’ instead,” D. 
answered. “That 
wouldn’t be so ter¬ 
ribly expensive, 
would it? And I’d 
rather have a porch 
here than a tennis 
court.” 
“But a porch would 
be hideous there. If 
you want a porch, 
why not put it at the 
end of the house over 
the cellar door, near 
the lilac hedge ?” 
“But then it would 
look right into our 
next door neighbors’!” — which I had to acknowledge. Abnormal 
porches were considered and discarded, one after another; noth¬ 
ing seemed to arrange and we reached no conclusion. Later we 
were to learn the part the barn could play in the general 
At the rear of the house the ground slopes away, carrying out in an attractive way the lines of down¬ 
ward gradation from the house roof to the reconstructed woodshed 
1 he converted woodshed occupies the best position on the grounds 
remodeled state it is an ideal outdoor summer living-room 
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