“Ah—?  I don’t place him,” Mr. Rideout said thoughtfully.  “There are so many.  Well, Mrs. Warriner,” he turned his smiling, bright eyes to her again, from the fire, “I am intruding on you this afternoon for a reason that I hope you will find easy to forgive in an old man.  I must tell you first that my wife and I used to live in this house, a good many years ago.  We moved away from it—­let me see—­we left this house something like twenty-six or —­eight years ago.  But we’ve talked a hundred times of coming back here some day, and having a little look about ’little Ten-Twelve,’ as we always used to call it.  I see your number’s changed.  But”—­his gesture was almost apologetic—­“we are busy people.  Mrs. Rideout likes to live in the country a great part of the time; this neighborhood is inaccessible now—­time goes by, and, in short, we haven’t ever come back.  But this was home to us for a good many years.”  He was speaking in a lower voice now, his eyes on the fire.  “Yes, ma’am.  Yes, ma’am,” he said gently, “I brought Rose here a bride—­thirty-three years ago.”

“Well, but fancy!” said Anne, her face radiant, “just as we did!  No wonder we said the house looked as if people had been happy in it!”

“There was a Frenchwoman here then,” said Mr. Rideout, thoughtfully, “a queer woman!  She played fast and loose until I didn’t know whether we’d ever really get the place or not.  This neighborhood was full of just such houses then, although I remember Rose used to make great capital out of the fact that ours was the only brick one among them.  This house came around the Horn from Philadelphia, as a matter of fact, and”—­his eyes, twinkling with indulgent amusement, met Anne’s,—­“and you know that before a lady has got a baby to boast of, she’s going to do a little boasting about her new house!”

Anne laughed.  “Perhaps she boasted about her husband, too,” she said, “as I do, when Jimmy isn’t anywhere around.”

She liked the tender look, that had in it just a touch of pleased embarrassment with which he shook his head.

“Well, well, perhaps she did.  Perhaps she did.  She was very merry; pleased with everything; to this day my wife always sees the cheerful side of things first.  A great gift, that.  She danced about this house as if it were another toy, and she a little girl.  We thought it a very, very lovely little home.”  His eyes travelled about the low walls.  “I got to thinking of it to-day, wondered if it were still standing.  I stood at your gate a little while,—­the path is the same, and the steps, and some of the old trees,—­a japonica, I remember, and the lemon verbenas.  Finally, I found myself ringing your bell.”

“I’m so glad you did!” Anne said.  “There are lots of old trees and shrubs in the backyard, too, that you and your wife might remember.  We think it is the dearest little house in the world, except that now we are rather anxious to get the children out of the city.”