In the lower story of the new cottage were two square front rooms
like those in his father's house, and behind them the great kitchen
with a bedroom out of it, and a roof of its own.

Barnabas paused at last in the kitchen, and stood quite still,
leaning against a window casement. The windows were not in, and the
spaces let in the cool air and low light. Outside was a long reach of
field sloping gently upward. In the distance, at the top of the hill,
sharply outlined against the sky, was a black angle of roof and a
great chimney. A thin column of smoke rose out of it, straight and
dark. That was where Charlotte Barnard lived.

Barnabas looked out and saw the smoke rising from the chimney of the
Barnard house. There was a little hollow in the field that was quite
blue with violets, and he noted that absently. A team passed on the
road outside; it was as if he saw and heard everything from the
innermost recesses of his own life, and everything seemed strange and
far off.

He turned to go, but suddenly stood still in the middle of the
kitchen, as if some one had stopped him. He looked at the new
fireless hearth, through the open door into the bedroom which he
would occupy after he was married to Charlotte, and through others
into the front rooms, which would be apartments of simple state, not
so closely connected with every-day life. The kitchen windows would
be sunny. Charlotte would think it a pleasant room.

"Her rocking-chair can set there," said Barnabas aloud. The tears
came into his eyes; he stepped forward, laid his smooth boyish cheek