. It was around there
at the side door. I've seen it many a time, an' for all I know it's
there yet."

We went around there. Sure enough! Cap'n Ben's iron door-sill was still
in place. Brown at the ends, bright and thinner where the step came, it
remained as firmly fixed as when, a hundred years before, it had
supplied the latest bit of gossip to Brook Ridge.

III

_The thought of going back to "six rooms and improvements"_

Peace of mind is a fleeting thing. We began to be harassed with
uncertainty--to suffer with indecision. In buying the old house we had
not at first considered making it a year-round residence, but merely a
place to put some appropriate furnishings, the things we cared for most,
so that we might have them the best part of the year--from April, say,
to Thanksgiving. It had not occurred to us that we would cut loose
altogether from the town--dynamite our bridges, as it were--and become a
part and parcel of Brook Ridge.

Every day, neighbors stopped to make our acquaintance and learn our
plans. We interested them, for we were the first new-comers for many a
year to that neglected corner of the township. They were the kindest
people in the world, moved, perhaps, less by curiosity than by concern
for our comfort and happiness. They generally wanted to know how we
liked our place, what changes we were going to make in it, and they
never failed to ask if we intended to make it our home or merely a place
for summer-time.

Our replies to the last question, at first definite, became vague and
qualified, then again definite, for we admitted that we did not know. As
a matter of fact, the place was getting hold of us, possessing us,
surrounding us on all sides with its fascinations. It was just an old
house, a few broken acres, and a brook--just some old lumber and stones,
some ordinary trees, some every-day water--not much, perhaps, to get
excited over or to change one's scheme of life. Yet we did get excited
over it, daily, and it had suddenly become a main factor in our problem
of life. The thought of going back to "six rooms and improvements," with
clanging bells and crashing wheels, and with an expanse of dingy roofs
for scenery, became daily less attractive. True, we would have to spend
a good deal more money on the old house to fit it for cold weather, but
then there would be the saving in rent.

We began to discuss the matter--quietly, even casually, at first--then
feverishly, positively. We we