“The scenery, however, gradually became more rough and broken.  Knobs of gray gneiss, crowned by mournful cedars, intrenched upon the arable land, and the dark-blue gleam of water appeared through the trees.  Our road, which had been approaching the Sound, now skirted the head of a deep, irregular inlet, beyond which extended a beautiful promontory, thickly studded with cedars, and with scattering groups of elm, oak, and maple trees.  Towards the end of the promontory stood a house, with white walls shining against the blue line of the Sound.

“‘There is Arcadia, at last!’ exclaimed Mr. Shelldrake.

“A general outcry of delight greeted the announcement.  And, indeed, the loveliness of the picture surpassed our most poetic anticipations.  The low sun was throwing exquisite lights across the point, painting the slopes of grass a golden green, and giving a pearly softness to the gray rocks.  In the background was drawn the far-off water-line, over which a few specks of sail glimmered against the sky.  Miss Ringtop, who, with Eunice, Mallory, and myself, occupied one carriage, expressed her ‘gushing’ feelings in the usual manner:—­

  “’Where the turf is softest, greenest,
  Doth an angel thrust me on,—­
  Where the landscape lies serenest,
  In the journey of the sun!’

“‘Don’t, Pauline!’ said Eunice; ’I never like to hear poetry flourished in the face of Nature.  This landscape surpasses any poem in the world.  Let us enjoy the best thing we have, rather than the next best.’

“‘Ah, yes!’ sighed Miss Ringtop, ’tis true!

  “They sing to the ear; this sings to the eye."’

“Thenceforward, to the house, all was childish joy and jubilee.  All minor personal repugnances were smoothed over in the general exultation.  Even Abel Mallory became agreeable; and Hollins, sitting beside Mrs. Shelldrake on the back seat of the foremost carriage, shouted to us, in boyish lightness of heart.

“Passing the head of the inlet, we left the country-road, and entered, through a gate in the tottering stone wall, on our summer domain.  A track, open to the field on one side, led us past a clump of deciduous trees, between pastures broken by cedared knolls of rock, down the centre of the peninsula, to the house.  It was quite an old frame-building, two stories high, with a gambrel roof and tall chimneys.  Two slim Lombardy poplars and a broad-leaved catalpa shaded the southern side, and a kitchen-garden, divided in the centre by a double row of untrimmed currant-bushes, flanked it on the east.  For flowers, there were masses of blue flags and coarse tawny-red lilies, besides a huge trumpet-vine which swung its pendent arms from one of the gables.  In front of the house a natural lawn of mingled turf and rock sloped steeply down to the water, which was not more than two hundred yards distant.  To the west was another and broader inlet of the Sound, out of which our Arcadian promontory rose bluff and bold, crowned with a thick fringe of pines.  It was really a lovely spot which Shelldrake had chosen,—­so secluded, while almost surrounded, by the winged and moving life of the Sound, so simple, so pastoral and home-like.  No one doubted the success of our experiment, for that evening, at least.