was always a mystery to her how Kirk
found his way through the mazy confusion of unseen surroundings. Now, on
unfamiliar ground, he was unsure of himself, but in a place he knew, it
was seldom that he asked or accepted guidance. The house was not
forbidding, Felicia decided--only tired, and very shabby. The burdocks
at the door-step could be easily disposed of. It was a wide stone
door-step, as she had hoped and from it, though there was not much view
of the bay, there were nice things to be seen. Before it, the orchard
dropped away at one side, leaving a wide vista of brown meadows, sown
with more of the pointy trees and grayed here and there by rocks; beyond
that, a silver slip of water, and the far shore blue, blue in the
distance. To the right of the house the land rolled away over another
dun meadow that stopped at a rather civilized-looking hedge, above which
rose a dense tumble of high trees. To the left lay the over-grown
dooryard, the old lichened stone wall, and the sagging gate which opened
to Winterbottom Road. Felicia tried to describe it all to Kirk, and
wondered as she gazed at him, standing beside her with the eager,
listening look his face so often wore, how much of it could mean
anything to him but an incomprehensible string of words.

Ken returned from Asquam in Hop's chariot, surrounded by bundles.

"Luxury!" he proclaimed, when the spoils were unloaded. "An oil-stove,
two burners--and food, and beautiful plates with posies on 'em--and tin
spoons! And I met Mrs. Hopkins and she almost fainted when I told her
we'd slept on the floor. She wanted us to come to her house, but it's
the size of a butter-box, and stuffy; so she insisted on sending three
quilts. Behold! And the oil-stove was cheap because one of the doors was
broken (which I can fix). So there you are!"

"No sign of the goods, I suppose?"

"Our goods? Law, no! Old Mr. Thingummy put on his spectacles and peered
around as if he expected to find them behind the door!"

"Oh, my only aunt! They _are_ wonderful plates!" Felicia cried, as she
extracted one from its wrapper.

"That's my idea of high art," Ken said, "I got them at the Asquam
Utility Emporium. And have you remarked the chairs? Mrs. Hopkins sent
those, too. They were in her corn-crib,--on the rafters,--and she said
if we didn't see convenient to bring 'em back, never mind, 'cause she
was plumb tired of clutterin' 'em round from here to thar."

"Mrs. Hopkins seems to be an angel