ross the back of his house, and overlooked
three acres of garden, inclosed by a solid stone-wall. All the doors in
the house were open, and most of the windows, so that any one passing in
the road might have looked up through the gabled porch and the
passage-way, which divided the house, so to speak, into two parts, and
seen the professor's brown-linen legs, and slippers down at the heel,
projecting into view beyond the framework of the balcony-door.
Indeed--for the professor was an elderly man, and, in many respects, a
creature of habit--precisely this same phenomenon could have been
observed on any fine afternoon during the summer, even to the exact
amount of brown-linen leg visible.

Why the old gentleman's chair should always have been so placed as to
allow a view of so much of his anatomy and no more is a question of too
subtle and abstruse conditions to be solved here. One reason doubtless
lay in the fact that, by craning forward over his knees, he could see
down the passage-way, through the porch, and across the grass-plot which
intervened between the house and the fence, to the road, thus commanding
all approaches from that direction, while his outlook on either side,
and in front, remained as good as from any other position whatsoever. To
be sure, the result would have been more easily accomplished had the
chair been moved two feet farther forward, but that would have made the
professor too much a public spectacle, and, although by no means
backward in appearing, at the fitting time, before his fellow-men, he
enjoyed and required a certain amount of privacy.

Moreover, it was not toward the road that Professor Valeyon's eyes
were most often turned. They generally wandered southward, over the
ample garden, and across the long, winding valley, to the range of
rough-backed hills, which abruptly invaded the farther horizon. It was
a sufficiently varied and vigorous prospect, and one which years had
endeared to the old gentleman, as if it were the features of a friend.
Especially was he fond of looking at a certain open space, near the
summit of a high, wooded hill, directly opposite. It was like an oasis
among a desert of trees. Had it become overgrown, or had the surrounding
timber been cut away, the professor would have taken it much to heart. A
voluntary superstition of this kind is not uncommon in elderly gentlemen
of more than ordinary intellectual power. It is a sort of half-playful
revenge they wreak upon t