the opposite side was the handsome red brick house occupied by Mr.
Lucas, the banker, and two or three other houses, more or less
pretentious, inhabited by the gentry of Milnthorpe.

Uncle Geoffrey lived at the lower end of the High street. It was a
tall, narrow house, with old-fashioned windows and wire blinds. These
blinds, which were my detestation, were absolutely necessary, as the
street door opened directly on the street. There was one smooth, long
step, and that was all. It had rather a dull outside look, but the
moment one entered the narrow wainscoted hall, there was a cheery
vista of green lawn and neatly graveled paths through the glass door.

The garden was the delight of Uncle Geoffrey's heart. It was
somewhat narrow, to match the house; but in the center of the lawn,
there was a glorious mulberry tree, the joy of us children. Behind
was a wonderful intricacy of slim, oddly-shaped flower-beds,
intersected by miniature walks, where two people could with
difficulty walk abreast; and beyond this lay a tolerable kitchen
garden, where Deborah grew cabbages and all sorts of homely herbs,
and where tiny pink roses and sturdy sweet-williams blossomed among
the gooseberry bushes.

On one side of the house were two roomy parlors, divided by folding
doors. We never called them anything but parlors, for the shabby
wainscoted walls and old-fashioned furniture forbade any similitude
to the modern drawing-room.

On the other side of the hall was Uncle Geoffrey's study--a somewhat
grim, dingy apartment, with brown shelves full of ponderous tomes, a
pipe-rack filled with fantastic pipes, deep old cupboards full of