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Amid such fields years ago, by the border of a brook, on a low

hill, in a grove of birches, stood a gentleman's3 mansion, of

wood, but with a stone foundation; the white walls shone from

afar, the whiter since they were relieved against the dark green

of the poplars that sheltered it against the winds of autumn. The

dwelling-house was not large, but it was spotlessly neat, and it

had a mighty barn, and near it were three stacks of hay that

could not be contained beneath the roof; one could see that the

neighbourhood was rich and fertile. And one could see from the

number of sheaves that up and down the meadows shone thick as

stars-one could see from the number of ploughs turning up early

the immense tracts of black fallow land that evidently belonged

to the mansion, and were tilled well like garden beds, that in

that house dwelt plenty and order. The gate wide-open proclaimed

to passers-by that it was hospitable, and invited all to enter as

guests.