e, and an apothecary's shop with the conventional globes of
mysterious crimson and blue liquids in the window; and, to complete the
list of the decorations of this fantastic front, there had been painted
many years ago, high up on the wall, in large and irregular letters, the
sign stretching out over two-thirds of the row, "Miss Orra White's
Seminary for Young Ladies." Miss Orra White had been dead for several
years; and the hall in which she had taught her school, having passed
through many successive stages of degradation in its uses, had come at
last to be a lumber-room, from which had arisen many a waggish saying as
to the similarity between its first estate and its last.

On the other side of the common, opposite the hotel, was a row of
dwelling-houses, which owing to the steep descent had a sunken look, as if
they were slipping into their own cellars. The grass was too green in
their yards, and the thick, matted plantain-leaves grew on both edges of
the sodden sidewalk.

"Oh, dear," thought Mercy to herself, "I am sure I hope our house is not
there." Then she stepped down from the high piazza, and stood for a moment
on the open space, looking up toward the north. She could only see for a
short distance up the winding road. A high, wood-crowned summit rose
beyond the houses, which seemed to be built higher and higher on the
slope, and to be much surrounded by trees. A street led off to the west
also: this was more thickly built up. To the south, there was again a
slight depression; and the houses, although of a better order than those
on the eastern side of the common, had somewhat of the same sunken air.
Mercy's heart turned to the north with a sudden and instinctive
recognition. "I am sure that is the right part of the town for mother,"
she said. "If Mr. White's house is down in that hollow, we'll not live in
it long." She was so absorbed in her study of the place, and in her
conjectures as to their home, that she did not realize that she herself
was no ordinary sight in that street: a slight, almost girlish figure, in
a plain, straight, black gown like a nun's, with one narrow fold of
transparent white at her throat, tied carelessly by long floating ends of
black ribbon; her wavy brown hair blown about her eyes by the wind, her
cheeks flushed with the keen air, and her eyes bright with excitement.
Mercy could not be called even a pretty woman; but she had times and
seasons of looking beautiful, and this was one