n any other castle I ever
visited. But in five minutes I had altered it to suit myself. I had
ploughed up the flower-beds, dug a sunken garden, planted a wind screen
of fir, spruce, and Pine, and with a huge brick wall secured warmth and
privacy. So pleased was I with my changes, that when I departed I was
sad and downcast. The boat-house of which Mrs. Farrell had spoken
was certainly an ideal work-shop, the tennis-courts made those at
the Newport Casino look like a ploughed field, and the swimming-pool,
guarded by white pillars and overhung with grape-vines, was a cool
and refreshing picture. As, hot and perspiring, I trudged back through
Fairharbor, the memory of these haunted me. That they also tempted me,
it is impossible to deny. But not for long. For, after passing through
the elm-shaded streets to that side of the village that faced the
harbor, I came upon the cottages I had seen from the New Bedford shore.
At close range they appeared even more attractive than when pointed
out to me by the mate of the steamboat. They were very old, very
weather-stained and covered with honeysuckle. Flat stones in a setting
of grass led from the gates to the arched doorways, hollyhocks rose
above hedges of box, and from the verandas one could look out upon the
busy harbor and the houses of New Bedford rising in steps up the sloping
hills to a sky-line of tree-tops and church spires. The mate had told
me that for what he had rented a flat in New York he had secured one of
these charming old world homes. And as I passed them I began to pick out
the one in which when I retired from the world I would settle down. This
time I made no alterations. How much the near presence of Miss Briggs
had to do with my determination to settle down in Fairharbor, I cannot
now remember. But, certainly as I crossed the bridge toward New Bedford,
thoughts of her entirely filled my mind. I assured my self this was
so only because she was beautiful. I was sure her outward loveliness
advertised a nature equally lovely, but for my sudden and extreme
interest I had other excuses. Her in dependence in earning her living,
her choice in earning it among books and pictures, her pride of family
as shown by her efforts to buy the family heirloom, all these justified
my admiration. And her refusing to go joy-riding with an impertinent
stranger, even though the impertinent stranger was myself, was an act I
applauded. The more I thought of Miss Briggs the more was I d