road in order to pass the Starkweather place. It is a fine old estate,
the buildings, except the barn, set well back from the road with a
spacious garden near them, and pleasant fields stretching away on every
hand. As I skirted the shoulder of the hill I looked eagerly for the
first glimpse of the barn. I confess that I had woven a thousand stories
to explain the mystery, and had reached the point where I could no
longer resist seeing if I could solve it.

Well, the barn was transformed. Two or three new windows, a door with a
little porch, a lattice or so for vines, a gable upon the roof lifting
an inquiring eyebrow--and what was once a barn had become a charming
cottage. It seemed curiously to have come alive, to have acquired a
personality of its own. A corner of the great garden had been cut off
and included in the miniature grounds of the cottage; and a simple
arbour had been built against a background of wonderful beech trees. You
felt at once a kind of fondness for it.

I saw Mary Starkweather in her garden, in a large straw hat, with a
trowel in her hand.

"How are you, David Grayson?" she called out when I stopped.

"I have been planning for several days," I said, "to happen casually by
your new house."

"Have you?"

"You don't know how you have stirred our curiosity. We haven't had a
good night's rest since you moved in."