two hills, which come down to the very edge of the
lake, leaving only room enough for a road between their base and the
water. This valley, half a mile in width, has been long settled, and
here for a century or more has stood the old Anchor Tavern. A famous
place it was so long as its sign swung at the side of the road: famous
for its landlord, portly, paternal, whose welcome to a guest that
looked worthy of the attention was like that of a parent to a returning
prodigal, and whose parting words were almost as good as a marriage
benediction; famous for its landlady, ample in person, motherly, seeing
to the whole household with her own eyes, mistress of all culinary
secrets that Northern kitchens are most proud of; famous also for its
ancient servant, as city people would call her,--help, as she was called
in the tavern and would have called herself,--the unchanging, seemingly
immortal Miranda, who cared for the guests as if she were their nursing
mother, and pressed the specially favorite delicacies on their attention
as a connoisseur calls the wandering eyes of an amateur to the beauties
of a picture. Who that has ever been at the old Anchor Tavern forgets
Miranda's

"A little of this fricassee?-it is ver-y nice;"

or

"Some of these cakes? You will find them ver-y good."

Nor would it be just to memory to forget that other notable and noted
member of the household,--the unsleeping, unresting, omnipresent Pushee,
ready for everybody and everything, everywhere within the limits of the
establishment at all hours of the day and night. He fed, nobody could
say accurately when or where. There were rumors of a "bunk," in which he
lay down with his clothes on, but he seemed to be always wide awake,
and at the service of as many guest, at once as if there had been half a
dozen of him.

So much for old reminiscences.

The landlord of the Anchor Tavern had taken down his sign. He had had
the house thoroughly renovated and furnished it anew, and kept it open
in summer for a few boarders. It happened more than once that the summer
boarders were so much pleased with the place that they stayed on through
the autumn, and some of them through the winter. The attractions of
the village were really remarkable. Boating in summer, and skating in
winter; ice-boats, too, which the wild ducks could hardly keep up with;
fishing, for which the lake was renowned; varied and beautiful walks
through the valley and up the hillsides;