AN IMPRESSION OF HOW AN OLD BRICK HOUSE WAS RESTORED TO GIVE THE FEELING OF 
OTHER DAYS—THE JUDICIOUS USE OF ANTIQUES IN CREATING A FITTING ATMOSPHERE 
by Fanny Sage Stone 
Photographs by the Author 
f T is always a beautiful drive over to Cloverly. A constantly 
A changing scene. L p and down hills we went one day in 
June, over good country roads, through busy little villages, on 
past glistening lakes and rivers. All along the roadsides were 
hedges of sweet clover. Flow the bees loved it, and how sweet 
was the air! Were ever birds more musical and numerous? The 
saucy bobolinks sang ripples of song all around us and over our 
heads; song sparrows called 
from the fences; meadow 
larks whistled from the fields ; 
all seeming to welcome and 
cheer us on our wav. 
Nothing could have been 
more restful and fascinating 
than Cloverly as I first saw 
it. Quiet and cleanliness, 
clear air and sunshine; beauti¬ 
ful views of well-kept fields 
of tobacco and grain; no 
smoke; no trains—not even a 
sidewalk to announce the 
coming of a person. Just a 
picture of peace and quiet it 
seemed. 
To be sure, there are ru¬ 
mors of a time when the place 
promised to be the scene of a 
busy, active life, but now— 
well, now it is not even a vil¬ 
lage. Its twenty families live 
in quaint little brick houses facing the green, or on the “other 
street.” There is the little school house and the church, where 
many years ago services were held, and where a now prominent 
city clergyman led the little flock of people who worshipped there. 
But this was in the long ago, and the story of a place that expected 
and got ready for a railroad that did not come is a familiar one in 
every locality. So, because the rails were laid in another direc¬ 
tion, the pretty red houses were finally left empty, and their own¬ 
ers followed after the steel rails that had played pitch and toss 
with their fortunes. The lovely gardens grew into tangles of 
weeds and flowers that flourish in spite of neglect; paths were 
overgrown and soon lost; fences and steps rotted away, and the 
bees and birds moved in to claim ownership of all. 
It was one of these houses that was purchased by the teacher, 
who longed for a quiet sum¬ 
mer home. Her mind was 
full of happy memories of 
Cloverly in the long years 
past, when she had lived there 
as a little girl, and loved the 
life — the life that to her child¬ 
ish mind was full of bustle 
and gavety. 
Sbe remembered it all, and 
had longed to go back, and 
now she was to spend her 
summers in dear old Cloverly. 
The home she established was 
a most hospitable one; the 
latch-string was always out 
constantly being pulled. When 
the Craftsman came to visit, 
the spell of the place pos¬ 
sessed him, and “The House 
Next Door” became bis. 
I have always been glad I 
saw this house before the hand 
of improvement had been laid upon it, for never could 1 have be¬ 
lieved that any place could have been so transformed in four 
short weeks. But busy carpenters, painters and paper hangers 
can work wonders, and “The House Next Door” at the end of 
the month was so homelike, artistic and inviting that it was hard 
to believe it had ever been otherwise. 
This place had been originally the pride of Cloverly and its 
An old Colonial sofa is drawn before the fireplace and upon the walls are thoroughly 
consistent prints and etchings fitting the period of the house 
(370 
