"Well," answered Miriam, presently, "home is home, and I made up my mind
to be perfectly satisfied with it whatever kind of house it may be. It
seems to me that a real home ought to be like parents and relations;
we've got them, and we can't change them, and we never think of such a
thing. We love them quite as they are. But I cannot help hoping, just a
little, that it is not a cottage. The only ones I have ever been in smelt
so much of soapsuds."

It was now quite dark, and the road appeared to be growing rougher. Every
now and then they jolted over a big stone, or sunk into a deep rut. Ralph
let down the front window.

"Are we nearly there?" he asked of the driver.

"Yes, sir," said the man; "we are on the place now."

"You don't mean," exclaimed Miriam, "that this is our road!"

"It's a good deal washed just here," said the man, "by the heavy rains."

Presently the road became smoother and in a few minutes the
carriage stopped.

"I am trembling all over," said Miriam, "with thinking of being at home,
and with not an idea of what it is like."

In a moment they were standing on a broad flagstone. Although it was
dark, they could see the outline of the house before them.

"Ralph," whispered Miriam, drawing close to her brother, "it is not a