n a way. He's given us a good deal
of trouble, too, in the courts with damage cases."...

We came to a brighter, more spacious, well-to-do portion of the town,
where the residences faced the river. In a little while the waters
widened into a lake, which was surrounded by a park, a gift to the
city of the Hutchins family. Facing it, on one side, was the Hutchins
Library; on the other, across a wide street, where the maples
were turning, were the Hutchinses' residences of various dates of
construction, from that of the younger George, who had lately married a
wife, and built in bright yellow brick, to the old-fashioned mansion of
Ezra himself. This, he told me, had been good enough for his father, and
was good enough for him. The picture of it comes back to me, now, with
singular attractiveness. It was of brick, and I suppose a modification
of the Georgian; the kind of house one still sees in out-of-the way
corners of London, with a sort of Dickensy flavour; high and square and
uncompromising, with small-paned windows, with a flat roof surrounded
by a low balustrade, and many substantial chimneys. The third storey was
lower than the others, separated from them by a distinct line. On one
side was a wide porch. Yellow and red leaves, the day's fall, scattered
the well-kept lawn. Standing in the doorway of the house was a girl in
white, and as we descended from the surrey she came down the walk to
meet us. She was young, about twenty. Her hair was the colour of the
russet maple leaves.

"This is Mr. Paret, Maude." Mr. Hutchins looked at his watch as does a
man accustomed to live by it. "If you'll excuse me, Mr. Paret, I have
something important to attend to. Perhaps Mr. Paret would like to look
about the grounds?" He addressed his daughter.

I said I should be delighted, though I had no idea what grounds were
meant. As I followed Maude around the house she explained that all the
Hutchins connection had a common back yard, as she expressed it. In
reality, there were about two blocks of the property, extending behind
all the houses. There were great trees with swings, groves, orchards
where the late apples glistened between the leaves, an old-fashioned
flower garden loath to relinquish its blooming. In the distance the
shadowed western ridge hung like a curtain of deep blue velvet against
the sunset.

"What a wonderful spot!" I exclaimed.

"Yes, it is nice," she agreed, "we were all brought up here--I mean my
cousins and