the forest nailed together almost in their natural shapes. The late owner
was a man of eccentric and various accomplishments, and his handiwork
appeared in every detail of the house.

Pictures from his brush were on the walls; of the lake in every
mood--stormy and slumbering, golden sunsets, and tempest-torn clouds, a
canoe stealing through the rice, a flight of wild ducks overhead, and one
swirling down to the gun of its occupant; again, the lake frozen over,
and a sleighing party careering upon it.

There was a screen of his carving, and two or three couches, the latter
more comfortable than the rest of the furniture, being covered with moose
and seal skins. Other skins were stretched on the floor. The table-legs,
like the chairs, were made of fantastic branches of wood, having rather
the effect of antlers when visible under the embroidered cloths, probably
the production of the squaws in the Indian village. Mr. Lyndon was the
architect of the villa itself, and his whimsical fancy came out in every
detail. Long, rambling passages squandered space, while queer-shaped
rooms appeared up and down steps, and in unexpected places and corners,
as if squeezed in by an afterthought, yet the humblest commanded a pretty
view. Many of the ceilings were decorated with Cupids, Mermaids, and
Dryads carelessly painted in, apparently the resource of wet afternoons.

Colonel Rolleston's voice summoned them from these attractive rooms to
supper, and certainly the _menu_ was varied enough to suit all tastes.

Prairie-hens and snipe were flanked with Indian corn, salsify, maple
sugar, and cocoa-nut cakes; tea at one end, and a disipated-looking
bottle of "old rye" at the other. But hasty justice was done to this
repast by Lola and Freddy, who were dying to go down to the landing, and
witness the disembarkation of their sisters, and introduce them to their
discoveries; so soon as the boat was descried, they flew down with
Colonel Rolleston, waving a flag hastily caught up in the hall.

Mrs. Rolleston and Cecil went to arrange the distribution of bed-rooms,
the latter choosing for herself a queer little triangular nook in a
gable. Perhaps she perceived that a room of less modest proportions would
inevitably have to be shared with Bluebell. It might have been a
watchtower from the extent of its view, which swept the lake up to the
Indian village.

The children below were full of the stories the boatman had told them.
That black island