“When I purchased the property,” he said, “the house looked very differently.  It was stuck full of little insignificant windows that affected me like staring eyes; its two or three inches of cornice stole timidly out, as if ashamed of itself, over the side, and the whole wore an awkward and sheepish air.  It made me uncomfortable every time I looked at it, and I resolved upon an alteration.  So I shut up half the windows, and increased the size where I could, and threw out a cornice, which, besides the merit of beauty, has the practical advantage (that is the national word, I believe) of acting as an umbrella to protect the sides against the mid-day heat of the sun in summer, and the storms in winter.  Besides, I added the veranda, which runs nearly the whole length of the front.”

“I confess it is an improvement upon the ancestral style,” said Armstrong.

“I expected the acknowledgment from your natural taste, which is excellent,” said the Judge laughing, “except when corrupted by traditional prejudices.  I must take care of my horse myself, I suspect,” he added, as they drove up to the door:  “the men are probably all in the fields.  He will stand, however, well enough under this shed.”  So saying, and after Armstrong had alighted at the door, he drove the horse under a shed, near the barn, and fastened him; then joining Armstrong, the two entered the house.

“La, Judge!” said Mrs. Perkins, the farmer’s wife who received them, smoothing down her check apron, “you take us by surprise to-day.  We didn’t expect you, and the men-folks is all in the lot.  Didn’t you find your ride very warm?”

“Not very; and if it had been, the pleasure of seeing you, Mrs. Perkins, would more than compensate for any annoyance from the heat.”

“You are so polite, Judge,” replied Mrs. Perkins, simpering.  “I declare you are equal to a Frenchman.”

With all his French education, this was a remark the Judge would have been willing to dispense with; however on the French principle of considering that as a compliment, the meaning of which is equivocal, he bowed and introduced Mr. Armstrong.

Mrs. Perkins courtesied.  “She’d heard,” she said, “of Mr. Armstrong, and that he had the handsomest daughter, in the town of Hillsdale.”

“It is your turn now,” whispered the Judge.  “Let me see how you will acquit yourself.”

But Armstrong was not a man for compliments.

“Faith looks as well as young ladies generally I believe,” he said.

Mrs. Perkins did not like to have her pretty speech received with so much indifference, so she answered,

“I was, perhaps, too much in a hurry when I called Squire Armstrong’s daughter, the handsomest:  I forgot Anne, and she’s a right to be, sence she’s got her father’s good looks.”

“Dear Mrs Perkins, you overwhelm me!” exclaimed the Judge, bowing still lower than before.  “I think higher than ever of your taste.”