"That is as it should be. Isabel and I will go over this afternoon, and
when we come back, we can tell you all about it."

"You'd better drive--I'm sure the paths aren't broken."

So, after luncheon, the two started out with the keys, Madame waving
them a cheery good-bye from the window.

"Everything about this place seems queer to me," said Isabel. "It's the
same, and yet not the same."

"I know," Rose answered. "Things are much smaller, aren't they?"

"Yes. The rooms used to be vast and the ceilings very far away. Now,
they're merely large rooms with the ceilings comfortably high. The
garden used to seem like a huge park, but now it's only a large garden.
There used to be a great many steps in the stairway, and high ones at
that. Now it's nothing compared with other flights. Only Aunt Francesca
remains the same. She hasn't changed at all."

"She's a saint," said Rose with deep conviction, as the carriage turned
into the driveway.

The house, set far back from the street, was of the true Colonial type,
with stately white pillars at the dignified entrance. The garden was a
tangled mass of undergrowth--in spite of the snow one could see that--
but the house, being substantially built, had changed scarcely at all.

"A new coat of paint will freshen it up amazingly," said Rose, as they