to live in; but there were children playing about;
and on the other side a cemetery. All this tract was known as Mount
Pleasant.

At the north of the cemetery, they plunged down a stony way called a
road, mostly by courtesy, though it was the only way of getting up from
the river. Great trees overhung it on one side, and gave it a weird,
darkened aspect.

"It might be a ghost-walk, at night," exclaimed Delia. "Edgar A. Poe
could have put a story here. I like the tragic; but I'm not so fond of
the horrible."

Another turn showed them the river and the opposite shore crowned with
green glittering in the afternoon sunshine. They all paused, it was such
a wonderful outlook.

And when they reached it, and glanced up and down, it was a picture
indeed. The river made little bends, and wound around tiny points, edged
with the greenest of sedge grass in some places, then grey stones with
mossy sea-growth, or willows dipping their branches in the lightly
ruffled water. Not a soul to be seen anywhere, not a sound save the
voices of birds; but while they looked, a flock of geese came floating
grandly down.

"On thy fair bosom, silver lake,
The white swan spreads her snowy sail,"

quoted Delia.

"It is not the first time swans have proved geese," said Mr. Theodore,
with a smile. "But for the sake of the picturesque we will let it pass."

"I wonder if the Wye or the Severn would be so enchanting to us if poets
had not lived there and immortalised them?"

"When we are an old country, we will, no doubt, sigh for relics. In
1666, this was called 'Neworke or Pesayak towne;' and a little more than
a hundred years ago this Gully was made the dividing line between the
towns. There are many historic spots in Belleville, and an old copper
mine that once made a great addition to her prosperity. But my quest
ends here. I don't know as I have a hero exactly, Miss Hanny, yet my
friend, Frank Forrester, has had a varied and eventful life. This way."

Mr. Whitney led them up a path mostly over-grown with pale, spindling
grass that had no chance for sunshine, so close and tall were the trees.
It was undeniably gloomy, hidden away here. A little old brown,
weather-beaten house hung with vines, that even stretched up into the
trees; small, narrow windows, with diamond-shaped panes that could not
let in much light, it would seem.

"It's a horrid place," cried Dele. "Hanny, we shall surely see a ghost.
The idea of living at the v