against them, and little scraps of windows filled with greenish glass
that you can't see through, and which make you look like a mouldy
fright, if any one looks through from the outside."

"Miss Gisborne's window-panes _are_ green," admitted Candace. "Some of
them are so old that they have colors all over them like
mother-of-pearl,--red and blue and yellow. I liked to see them; and she
told us that last summer an architect who was going by the house
stopped and looked at them a long time, and then rang the bell and
offered to give her new sashes with great big panes in them if she would
exchange; but she wouldn't."

"The more fool she!" rejoined Mrs. Joy, frankly. "My! what a splendid
big house that is going to be! That's the kind of thing I like." And she
pointed to an enormous half-finished structure of wood, painted pumpkin
color and vermilion, which with its size, its cottage-like details, and
the many high thin chimneys which rose above its towering roofs, looked
a happy mixture of an asylum, a factory, and a Swiss chalet.

"But what a little bit of ground there is about it for such a big
house!" said Candace, whose country eyes were often struck by the
disproportion between the Newport edifices and the land on which they
stood.

"Yes; land is so dreadfully dear now that people can't afford large
places."

"I wonder why this is called 'Farewell Street,'" said Candace, looking
at the name painted on the corner of a street into which they were
turning.

"Some people say it's because this is the street by which funerals come
away from the Cemetery," replied Mrs. Joy. "There's the Reading-room
down there. You've seen that, I suppose. Mrs. Gray comes down to the
mothers' meetings sometimes, I know."

"Yes; and she has promised to take me with her some day, but we haven't
gone yet."

The carriage now turned into a narrow street, parallel with the Bay, but
not in sight of it; and Mrs. Joy indicated to her footman a low
dormer-windowed house, shabby with weather-stains and lack of paint,
whose only ornament was a large and resplendent brass knocker on its
front door.

"That's the place," she said. "Just look at that knocker. I know for a
certainty that lots of people have offered to buy it, and the absurd old
creature to whom it belongs won't sell. She declares that it's been
there ever since she can remember, and that it shall stay there as long
as she stays. So ridiculous, when things of the kind bring such a