Albert Bigelow Paine

Dwellers in Arcady Albert Bigelow Paine

Just below the brow of the hill one of the traces broke (it was in the
horse-and-wagon days of a dozen years or so ago), and, if our driver had
not been a prompt man our adventure might have come to grief when it was
scarcely begun. As it was, we climbed on foot to the top, and waited
while he went into a poor old wreck of a house to borrow a string for
repairs.

We wondered if the house we were going to see would be like this one. It
was of no special design and it had never had a period. It was just a
house, built out of some one's urgent need and a lean purse. In the
fifty years or so of its existence it had warped and lurched and become
sway-backed and old--oh, so old and dilapidated--without becoming in the
least antique, but just dismal and disreputable--a veritable pariah of
architecture. We thought this too bad, for the situation, with its view
down a little valley and in the distance the hazy hills, was the sort of
thing that, common as it is in Connecticut, never loses its charm. Never
mind, we said, perhaps "our house" would have a view, too.

But then our trace was mended and we went along--happily, for it was
sunny weather and summer-time, and, though parents of a family of three,
we were still young enough to find pleasure in novelty and a surprise at
every turn. Our driver was not a communicative spirit, but we drew from
him that a good many houses were empty in this part--"people dead or
gone away, and city folks not begun to come yet"--he didn't know why,
for it was handy enough to town--sixty miles by train--and a
nice-enough country, and healthy--just overlooked, he guessed.

We agreed readily with this view; we were passing, just then, along a
deep gorge that had a romantic, even dangerous, aspect; we descended to
a pretty valley by a road so crooked that twice it nearly crossed
itself; we followed up a clear, foaming little river to a place where
there was a mill and a waterfall, also an old-fashioned white house
surrounded by trees. Just there we crossed a bridge and our driver
pulled up.

"The man you came to see lives here," he said. "The house is ahead, up
the next hill."