“That was just what I was thinking, Mr. Jones.”

“Oh, I knowed that.  Well, I’ve got just two more things to say, then I’m done and you can take it or leave it.  Don’t you see?  The house is on a slope facing the south-east.  You get the morning sun and the southern breeze.  Some people don’t know what they’re worth, but I, who’ve lived here all my life, know they’re worth payin’ for.  Again, you see the ground slopes off to the crick yonder.  That means good drainage.  We don’t have any malary here, and that fact is worth as much as the farm, for I wouldn’t take a section of the garden of Eden if there was malary around.”

“On your honor now, Mr. Jones, how far is the corner around which they have the malaria?”

“Mr. Durham, it ain’t a mile away.”

I laughed as I said, “I shall have one neighbor, it seems, to whom I can lend an umbrella.”

“Then you’ll take the place?”

“Yes, if my wife is as well satisfied as I am.  I want you to give me the refusal of it for one week at the price you named.”

“Agreed, and I’ll put it in black and white.”

“Now, Mr. Jones,” I began with an apologetic little laugh, “you grow one thing up here in all seasons, I fancy—­an appetite.  As I feel now, your pot-luck means good luck, no matter what is in it.”

“Now you talk sense.  I was a-hankerin’ myself.  I take stock right off in a man or a critter with an appetite.  They’re always improvin’.  Yes, sir; Maizeville is the place to grow an appetite, and what’s more we can grow plenty to satisfy it.”

Mrs. Jones made a striking contrast to her husband, for she first impressed me as being short, red, and round; but her friendly, bustling ways and hearty welcome soon added other and very pleasant impressions; and when she placed a great dish of fricasseed chicken on the table she won a good-will which her neighborly kindness has steadily increased.

CHAPTER VIII

TELLING ABOUT EDEN

Never was a traveller from a remote foreign clime listened to with more breathless interest than I as I related my adventures at our late supper after my return.  Mousie looked almost feverish in her excitement, and Winnie and Bobsey exploded with merriment over the name of the mountain that would be one of our nearest neighbors.  They dubbed the place “Schunemunks” at once.  Merton put on serious and sportsman-like airs as he questioned me, and it was evident that he expected to add largely to our income from the game he should kill.  I did not take much pains to dispel his illusions, knowing that one day’s tramp would do this, and that he would bring back increased health and strength if nothing else.

No fairy tale had ever absorbed the children like the description of that old house and its surroundings; and when at last they were induced to retire I said to my wife, after explaining more in practical detail the pros and cons to be considered:  “It all depends on you.  If you wish I will take you up the first pleasant day, so that you can see for yourself before we decide.”