The spot where we landed was a small but lovely gravelly cove, that was shaded by three or four enormous weeping-willows, and presented the very picture of peace and repose.  It was altogether a retired and rural bit, there being near it no regular landing, no reels for seines, nor any of those signs that denote a place of resort.  A single cottage stood on a small natural terrace, elevated some ten or twelve feet above the rich bottom that sustained the willows.  This cottage was the very beau ideal of rustic neatness and home comfort.  It was of stone, one story in height, with a high pointed roof, and had a Dutch-looking gable that faced the river, and which contained the porch and outer door.  The stones were white as the driven snow, having been washed a few weeks before.  The windows had the charm of irregularity; and everything about the dwelling proclaimed a former century, and a regime different from that under which we were then living.  In fact, the figures 1698, let in as iron braces to the wall of the gable, announced that the house was quite as old as the second structure at Clawbonny.

The garden of this cottage was not large, but it was in admirable order.  It lay entirely in the rear of the dwelling; and behind it, again, a small orchard, containing about a hundred trees, on which the fruit began to show itself in abundance, lay against the sort of amphitheatre that almost enclosed this little nook against the intrusion and sight of the rest of the world.  There were also half a dozen huge cherry trees, from which the fruit had not yet altogether disappeared, near the house, to which they served the double purpose of ornament and shade.  The out-houses seemed to be as old as the dwelling, and were in quite as good order.

As we drew near the shore, I directed Neb to cease sculling, and sat gazing at this picture of retirement, and, apparently, of content, while the boat drew towards the gravelly beach, under the impetus already received.

“This is a hermitage I think I could stand, Miles,” said Marble, whose look had not been off the spot since the moment we left the sloop’s side.  “This is what I should call a human hermitage, and none of your out and out solitudes Room for pigs and poultry; a nice gravelly beach for your boat; good fishing in the offing, I’ll answer for it; a snug shoulder-of-mutton sort of a house; trees as big as a two-decker’s lower masts; and company within hail, should a fellow happen to take it into his head that he was getting melancholy.  This is just the spot I would like to fetch-up in, when it became time to go into dock.  What a place to smoke a segar in is that bench up yonder, under the cherry tree; and grog must have a double flavour alongside of that spring of fresh water!”

“You could become the owner of this very place, Moses, and then we should be neighbours, and might visit each other by water.  It cannot be much more than fifty miles from this spot to Clawbonny.”