Thornstream Manor, the residence of the Pethrams for many generations, was a quaint old house, surrounded by pleasant grounds. A grey weather-beaten structure of two stories, built on a slight rise, on which were wide terraces down to the green lawns below, which were girt some distance away by a circle of ancient trees. The house itself was a long, low, embattlemented place between two sharply pointed gables, beneath which were diamond-paned oriel windows. Along the front other wide low windows, and a massive door set in a heavy stone porch. The roofs above of deep-red tiles, with twisted chimneys here and there, and the whole house covered with a clinging garment of dark green ivy, as if to shelter it from the cold winds blowing across the park. Seen at the end of the drive as it emerged from the trees, the white terraced rise topped by the grey ivy-covered house, with the tint of red afforded by the roof, looked singularly peaceful and pleasant. The goddess with the olive branch had established herself in this pleasant domain, and a brooding air of Sunday quiet pervaded the place, as if it were indeed that delightful Castle of Indolence whereof one James Thomson discourseth so pleasantly. The grounds were also charming--wide stretches of green lawn, flower-beds filled with homely cottage flowers, still stone-rimmed ponds, where broad-leaved water-lilies kept the sun from grilling the hoary carp in the depths below. An antique dial with its warning motto, and on the verge of the lush glass, heavily foliaged trees making pleasant shades for the timid deer browsing round their gnarled boles. White pigeons flashed in the blue sky round the grey walls of Thornstream, or nestled among the trees with gentle cooings, while a glimpse could be obtained every now and then of lazy cows in distant meadows, chewing the cud of contentment. It was one of those scenes of intense quiet which are only to be seen in full perfection in the pleasant lands of pastoral England, a home, a veritable home, which one engaged in the turmoil of the world would remember with regretful longing. Peace, absolute peace, that most desirable of all blessings was here. Peace, which youth scorns but which age prizes, brooded over the homestead, and the Sleeping Beauty herself might have dreamed away her hundred years in this happy English mansion without being disturbed in any way. "And on an English home--grey twilight poured, On dewy pastures, dewy trees, Softer than sleep--all things in order stored, A haunt of ancient Peace." "I never understood those lines of Tennyson until I saw Thornstream."