The pointed-topped, pillared vestibule entrance was covered with roses which smothered it in a pink bloom. Hollyhocks, not blooming yet, marched in files along the front of the house. Lilacs, in heavy blossom, bunched in hedges at the ends. At one side, a trumpet vine, with a trunk as thick as iron cable, had crept to the very top spine of the house, was crawling towards the single ample chimney which protruded from the middle of the roof. At the other side, a graceful elm thrust close to the shingles. A syringa bush and a smoke bush grew in front. But charming as was the house, interesting as was the barn, the children’s eyes did not linger long on either of them, because inevitably their gaze fixed on that Annex which made an intermediate house between them. For in the middle of it--yes _in_ it and _through_ it--grew an enormous gnarled oak. Its trunk emerged from the roof and its long level branches spread over it in every direction. More than that--above that roof--securely caught in those flatly-growing, widely-spread branches was a little Tree House. The colored pair were almost on them now. “Good afternoon Floribel,” Maida greeted them, “Good afternoon Zeke. Let me introduce you to Mrs. Flynn and Mrs. Dore.” Then she turned to the rest of the group. “Children,” she commanded in a tone of happy pride, “behold Maida’s Little House.” CHAPTER IV THE LITTLE HOUSE “Do you want to see the place now or wait until after supper?” Maida asked after the last admiring exclamation had died, the last pair of cramped legs had stretched themselves out. “I’m starved,” Rosie answered instantly, “but I must see everything first.” The others echoed Rosie’s decision with a fury of enthusiasm. “We can’t see anything of the back of the house from here,” Arthur said as though that clinched the matter. And so while Granny Flynn and Mrs. Dore--the little children tagging them in a daze of fatigue, shot with excitement--were being taken care of by Floribel and Zeke, Maida led the older children on a voyage of exploration. “Now first,” she said in a practical voice, “let’s go off a little distance--so that I can show you the whole lay of the land.” The six of them returned almost to the spot where they had first caught sight of the Little House. “I’m going to start by telling you a little of the history of the house,” Maida began importantly. “This is the old Westabrook farmhouse and my father was born here; and his father and his father. It was built in 1645 and Westabrooks have lived in it from that day to this.” “Oh Maida!” Rosie said in an awed tone, “isn’t that wonderful! Is it just the same as it was then?” “No, indeed,” Maida answered. “Almost every generation of Westabrooks added something to the original house. The barn was built later and also all those little additions--we call them the Annex--which connect the house with the barn, but it was my father who made the sides of them all windows.”