the little pavilion to watch an autumn sunset of
deep red fire and pallid gold. To their left lay Kingsport, its roofs
and spires dim in their shroud of violet smoke. To their right lay the
harbor, taking on tints of rose and copper as it stretched out into the
sunset. Before them the water shimmered, satin smooth and silver gray,
and beyond, clean shaven William's Island loomed out of the mist,
guarding the town like a sturdy bulldog. Its lighthouse beacon flared
through the mist like a baleful star, and was answered by another in the
far horizon.

"Did you ever see such a strong-looking place?" asked Philippa. "I don't
want William's Island especially, but I'm sure I couldn't get it if I
did. Look at that sentry on the summit of the fort, right beside the
flag. Doesn't he look as if he had stepped out of a romance?"

"Speaking of romance," said Priscilla, "we've been looking for
heather--but, of course, we couldn't find any. It's too late in the
season, I suppose."

"Heather!" exclaimed Anne. "Heather doesn't grow in America, does it?"

"There are just two patches of it in the whole continent," said Phil,
"one right here in the park, and one somewhere else in Nova Scotia, I
forget where. The famous Highland Regiment, the Black Watch, camped here
one year, and, when the men shook out the straw of their beds in the
spring, some seeds of heather took root."

"Oh, how delightful!" said enchanted Anne.

"Let's go home around by Spofford Avenue," suggested Gilbert. "We can
see all 'the handsome houses where the wealthy nobles dwell.' Spofford
Avenue is the finest residential street in Kingsport. Nobody can build
on it unless he's a millionaire."

"Oh, do," said Phil. "There's a perfectly killing little place I want to
show you, Anne. IT wasn't built by a millionaire. It's the first place
after you leave the park, and must have grown while Spofford Avenue was
still a country road. It DID grow--it wasn't built! I don't care for the
houses on the Avenue. They're too brand new and plateglassy. But this
little spot is a dream--and its name--but wait till you see it."

They saw it as they walked up the pine-fringed hill from the park. Just
on the crest, where Spofford Avenue petered out into a plain road, was
a little white frame house with groups of pines on either side of it,
stretching their arms protectingly over its low roof. It was covered
with red and gold vines, through which its green-shuttered windows
peeped. B