Felicia's sleeve, for she was
carrying two bags. He stumbled eagerly through the tall dry grass
of last summer's unmown growth.

"Now can you see it? _Now_?"

But Felicia had stopped, and Kirk stopped, too.

"Are we there? Why don't you say anything?"

Felicia said nothing because she could not trust her voice. Kirk knew
every shade of it; she could not deceive him. Gaunt and gray the "fine
old farm-house" stood its ground before them. Old it assuredly was, and
once fine, perhaps, as its solid square chimneys and mullioned windows
attested. But oh, the gray grimness of it! the sagging shutter that
creaked, the burdocks that choked the stone door-step, the desolate wind
that surged in the orchard trees and would not be still!

Ken did what Felicia could not do. He laughed--a real laugh, and swept
Kirk into warm, familiar arms.

"It's a big, jolly, fine old place!" he said. "Its windows twinkle
merrily, and the front door is only waiting for the key I have in my
pocket. We've got home, Quirk--haven't we, Phil?"

Felicia blessed Ken. She almost fancied that the windows did twinkle
kindly. The big front door swung open without any discourteous
hesitation, and Ken stood in the hall.

"Phew--dark!" he said. "Wait here, you fellows, while I get some
shutters open."

They could hear his footsteps sound hollowly in the back rooms, and
shafts of dusky light, preceded by hammerings and thumpings, began
presently to band the inside of the house. Felicia stepped upon the
painted floor of the bare hall, glanced up the narrow stairs, and then
stood in the musty, half-lit emptiness of what she guessed to be the
living-room, waiting for Ken. Kirk did not explore. He stood quite still
beside his sister, sorting out sounds, analyzing smells. Ken came in,
very dusty, rubbing his hands on his trousers.

"Lots of fireplaces, anyway," he said. "Put down your things--if you've
anywhere to put 'em. I'll load all the duffle into this room and see if
there's any wood in the woodshed. Glory! No beds, no blankets! There'll
_have_ to be wood, if the orchard primeval is sacrificed!" And he went,
whistling blithely.

"This is an adventure," Felicia whispered dramatically to Kirk. "We've
never had a real one before; have we?"

"Oh, it's nice!" Kirk cried suddenly. "It's low and still, and--the
house wants us, Phil!"

"The house wants us," murmured Felicia. "I believe that's going to help
me."

It was quite the queerest supper that th