"You don't believe it? Come over with us and look at it, and let us tell you our plans." "That negro hut, Hope? You never can be in earnest?" "She is until she has seen it," said the Invalid, smiling. "You had better go over with her: a sight of the place will be more effectual than all your arguments." "But she _has_ seen it," said Merry. "Two years ago, when we were here and old Uncle Nat was so ill, we went over there." "And I remember the house perfectly," added Hope--"a charming long, low, dark room, with no windows and a great fireplace, and the most magnificent live-oak overhanging the roof." "How enchanting! Let us move in at once." The Invalid rose from his chair, and taking Merry's arm, the four descended the piazza-steps. "Of course," explained Hope as we walked slowly under the grand old trees of the hotel park--"of course the carpenter and the painter and the glazier are to intervene, and Merry and I must make no end of curtains and things. But it will be ever so much cheaper, when all is done, than living at the hotel, besides being so much more cozy; and if we are to farm, we really should be on the spot." "Meantime, I shall retain my room at the hotel," said the Pessimist, letting down the bars. "You are expected to do that," retorted Merry, disdaining the bars and climbing over the fence. "It will be quite as much as you deserve to be permitted to take your meals with us. But there! can you deny that that is beautiful?" The wide field in which we were walking terminated in a high bluff above the St. John's. A belt of great forest trees permitted only occasional glimpses of the water on that side, but to the northward the ground sloped gradually down to one of the picturesque bays which so frequently indent the shores of the beautiful river. Huge live-oaks stood here and there about the field, with soft gray Spanish moss swaying from their dark branches. Under the shadow of one more mighty than the rest stood the cottage, or rather the two cottages, which formed the much-discussed residence--two unpainted, windowless buildings, with not a perpendicular line in their whole superficial extent. The Pessimist withdrew the stick which held the staple and threw open the unshapely door. There were no steps, but a little friendly pushing and pulling brought even the Invalid within the room. There was a moment's silence; then, from Hope, "Oh, the magnificent chimney! Think of a fire of four-foot lightwood on a chilly evening!" "I should advise the use of the chimney as a sleeping-room: there seems to be none other," said the Pessimist. "But we can curtain off this entire end of the room. How fortunate that it should be so large! Here will be our bedroom, and this corner shall be for Merry. And when we have put one of those long, low Swiss windows in the east side, and another here to the south, you'll see how pleasant it will be."