although there was an entry-like porch on the south front of the
living-room, and a huge door opening at the east end, both
connecting with the yard outside.

But the wood-shed, milk-house and summer kitchen were in the rear,
each being a rectangular building of heavy logs, with low lofts
above. The homestead was, in fact, a cluster of houses rather than
a single dwelling.

What most attracted Ray's attention were the huge bedsteads in the
living-room. They were tall four-posters, such as he had seen
elsewhere, but with the difference that a canopy covered them. Each
had a carved wooden frame, surmounting the top of the posts like a
roof. The wood was black with age, its surface being covered with
elaborate foliage and armorial devices, representing the toil of
some old French artisan of the seventeenth century. They probably
had been brought across the Atlantic by the original emigrant, and
carefully preserved ever since. They stood in diagonally opposite
corners of the room, and upheld the hugest of feather beds, with
gay, home-made worsted coverlets and valances that shamed the hues
of the rainbow. They certainly tempted to rest in that climate and
at that season, but would have seemed suffocating in a warmer
region.

That evening Ray said:

"See here, Jacques, you have double windows, with no way of opening
them that I can find, and your fireplace is closed to make a better
draft for this stove. I'm used to fresh air at night. If I leave
the end door ajar, you won't be afraid of burglars, will you?"