England ugliness, it coaxed my liking as had no other place I had ever
seen; it wooed me like a determined woman. And as one would long to
clothe beautifully a beloved woman, I looked at the house and foresaw
what an architect could do for it; how creamy stucco; broad white
porches and a gay scarlet roof would transform it.

"Come inside," my agent urged, hope in his voice as he observed my face;
"let me show you the interior. I brought the keys along. Of course, the
rooms may seem a bit musty. No one has lived in it for--some time. It's
the old Michell property; been in the family for a couple of hundred
years. Last Michell is dead, now, and it's being sold for the benefit of
some religious institute the old gentleman left it to. Trifle wet to
walk over the land today! But I've a plan and measurements in my
portfolio."

I said that we would go in. If he had but known the fact, the place was
already sold to me; before I left my car, before I entered the house,
before I had seen the hundred-odd acres that make up the estate.

There was a narrow, flagged path to the veranda, where the planking
moved and creaked under our weight while my companion unlocked the front
door. Rather astonishingly, the air of the long-closed place was neither
musty nor damp, when we stepped in. Instead, there was a faint, resinous
odor, very pleasant and clean; perhaps from the cedar of which the
woodwork largely consisted.

The house was partially furnished. Not, of course, with much that I
would care to retain, but a few good antiques stood out among their
commonplace associates. A large bedroom on the north side, which I
appointed as my own at first sight, held an old rosewood set including a
four-posted, pineapple-carved bed. I threw open the shutters in this
room and looked out.

I received the first jar to my satisfaction. On this side of the place,
the grounds ran down a slight slope for perhaps half a block to the
five-acre hollow of shallow water and lush growth which the agent called
a lake. From it flowed a considerable creek, winding behind the house
and away on its journey to the Sound. For that under-water marsh I felt
a shock of violent dislike.

"You don't care for the lake?" my companion deprecated, at my elbow.
"Fine trout in that stream, though! I'd like you to see it in the
sunshine."

"I should care more for it if it was a lake, not a swamp," I answered.

"Oh, but that is only because the old dam is down," he excl