This house, with its quaint hipped roof, is standing to-day, and it needs only a thatched covering, and the peaked dormer windows that were perhaps there in earlier days, to make it a typical old English cottage. The two great chimneys have been much changed. In olden times each served for the four rooms clustered about it, and from which it took generous corners. Above the great open fire-places were mantels of black marble, one of which was supported by white figures. These mantels and the three granite porticos, with their carved steps, were brought from Scotland by Mr. Forsythe, the builder, as was also the brick for the lower half-story. The house, too, boasts a dungeon that may have been used for protection or for the punishment of offenders two hundred years ago, about which time its building dates. A broad hall ran through the house, and above either wide doorway the portico roof was supported by iron brackets. The back door opens on the old garden, where the box trees still flourish, but the ancient trees around the lawn are veterans hoary and maimed by the storms of many years. Here Patrick Henry, already famous, lived, and Dolly Payne, a blue-eyed, merry little lassie, sat beside her mother in the family room, "the blue room," with its walnut wainscoting trimmed with pine, and solid walnut doors, and learned to sew and read. Scotch Town stands on high ground, and for miles around you can see an unbroken stretch of country. In colonial days about it were clustered numerous outbuildings, fine stables and the negro quarters, of which there is now no trace. Happy days were spent here by the little Dolly. Surely they had few cares for the little daughter so carefully guarded by "Mother Amy," her much-loved colored nurse; and there were other slaves to do her bidding. It was through them, doubtless, that she first heard the horrible story of the crime of "Negrofoot," now the name of the post-office on an adjoining plantation. The stranger naturally queries, Why Negrofoot? and is told the old story of an African slave, a cannibal, owned by a Mr. Jarman:--how, when the master and mistress were at church one day, he took the little two-year-old child from its nurse, killed it, and partly devoured it before its parents returned. The retribution was swift and terrible. A wild horse was brought, the slave tied to it, and the horse started on a mad run. Before it had ended, the slave, too, was dead. His body was then dismembered, and portions nailed up in different parts of the country. The foot put up here gave the name to Negrofoot-house, and to the post-office; and doubtless weird stories were told by the superstitious negroes, who shunned the scenes of the double crime. [Illustration: Negrofoot House. Photographed by Samuel M. Brosius.]