Then a shadow fell upon the floor of the barn, and Cousin Mildred's
voice greeted him.

"So you're here, dear? I'm just exploring your garden and thinking. I
like to be alone. I see that you are the same, dear child!"

"I'm readin'," said William, with icy dignity.

"Dear boy! Won't you come and show me the garden and your favourite
nooks and corners?"

William looked at her thin, vague, amiable face, and shut his book
with a resigned sigh.

"All right," he said, laconically.

He conducted her in patient silence round the kitchen garden and the
shrubbery. She looked sadly at the house, with its red brick,
uncompromisingly-modern appearance.

"William, I wish your house was _old_," she said, sadly.

William resented any aspersions on his house from outsiders.
Personally he considered newness in a house an attraction, but, if
anyone wished for age, then old his house should be.

"_Old_!" he ejaculated. "Huh! I guess it's _old_ enough."

"Oh, is it?" she said, delighted. "Restored recently, I suppose?"