was getting a trifle old, as it waited for
the completion of its rather dispropor-
tionate splendours; splendours which
represented the ambitions rather than
the achievements of the family. It tow-
ered, large, square, imposing, with hints
of M. Mansard's grandiose architectu-
ral ideas in its style, in the very centre
of a village block of land. From the
first, it exercised a sort of "I dreamt I
dwelt in marble halls" effect upon me,
and in a vague way, at the back of my
mind, floated the idea that when we
passed from our modest home into
this commanding edifice, well-trained
servants mysteriously would appear,
beautiful gowns would be found await-
ing my use in the closets, and father
and mother would be able to take their
ease, something after the fashion of the
"landed gentry" of whom I had read
in Scotch and English books. The ceil-
ings of the new house were so high, the
sweep of the stairs so dramatic, the size
of the drawing-rooms so copious, that
perhaps I hardly was to be blamed for
expecting a transformation scene.

But until this new life was realised,
the clean, bare rooms made the best of