departure on the morrow; as I stood at my window somewhat
pensively contemplating, for the last time, the peculiarly
delicious river-bit which it framed, the door opened suddenly,
and Nannette, my _fidus Achates_, and the companion of my summer,
ran in.

"Do you know," she cried, "I have just learned that we were
about to leave the place without visiting one of its greatest
curiosities? We have narrowly escaped going without having seen
the 'Old Maid's Village!'"

"The 'Old Maid's Village!'" I echoed, stupidly. "But what village
is _not_ the peculiar property of the race?"

"Yes, I know; but this village is really built on an old
maid's property, and by her own hands. And there is the 'Cat's
Monument,' too. Come! don't stop to talk about it, but let us
go and see it. It will be just the thing for a last evening; in
memoriam, you know, and all that. Get on your hat, and come, and
we shall see the sunset meeting the moonrise on the river once
more, as we return."

That, at least, was always worth seeing, I reflected; and so,
without more ado, I put on my wraps as I was bid, and reported
myself under marching orders.

How lovely, how indescribably lovely, the world was that
September afternoon, as we strolled along the shaded sidewalk
where the maples were already laying a mosaic of gold and garnet,
and looked off toward the river and the hills beyond--the far