bean colored Nye to the day of his death and died at eighty; but she
carries a carboy of spring-water with her personal baggage wherever she
travels, and is perpetually solicitous in regard to the presence of
arsenic in wall-papers into the bargain.

Verily, the world has wagged apace in Benham since Selma first looked
out at her metal stag and the surrounding landscape. Ten years later the
Benham Home Beautifying Society took in hand the Nye and those who
drained into it, and by means of garbage consumers, disinfectants, and
filters and judiciously arranged shrubbery converted its channel and
banks into quite a respectable citizens' paradise. But even at that time
the industries on either bank of the Nye, which flowed from east to
west, were forcing the retail shops and the residences further and
further away. To illustrate again from the Flagg family, just before the
war Joel Flagg built a modest house less than a quarter of a mile from
the southerly bank of the river, expecting to end his days there, and
was accused by contemporary censors of an intention to seclude himself
in magnificent isolation. About this time he had yielded to the plea of
his family, that every other building in the street had been given over
to trade, and that they were stranded in a social Sahara of factories.
So like the easy going yet soaring soul that he was, he had moved out
two miles to what was known as the River Drive, where the Nye
accomplishes a broad sweep to the south. There an ambitious imported
architect, glad of such an opportunity to speculate in artistic effects,
had built for him a conglomeration of a feudal castle and an old
colonial mansion in all the grisly bulk of signal failure.

Considering our ideals, it is a wonder that no one has provided a law
forbidding the erection of all the architecturally attractive, or
sumptuous houses in one neighborhood. It ought not to be possible in a