I looked in the direction in which he pointed, and clearly enough could see the house of which he spoke. His suggestion came at a very opportune moment, for we had just got out of the forest and come upon a large space of open ground some thousand acres in extent, which seemed rich and well cultivated, and the sun, then declining in the west, threw his full beams upon us, almost blinding me. The house seemed inviting, too. It was a large, red, brick building, somewhat like an old English manor-house, with a number of sheds and stables and outhouses scattered irregularly around it, and a backing of copse, not forest, but apparently consisting of orchards and shrubberies. I could not resist it, and, turning to Zed, asked, "Where is the road?" "Oh, pull down de fence," answered Zed, "and ride straight ahead." He was off his horse in a moment to perform the office he proposed; but the fence was not high; my horse took it easily, and Zed and his nag scrambled over the best way they could. The house was about half a mile from the road; and, not liking to ride over the grain, I had to thread my way through a somewhat narrow path, which made the distance greater. This path, however, led into a road, and that road to the bank of a very pretty stream, over which was a bridge of rather primitive construction. A gentle slope led from the little river to the front of the house, covered, if not exactly with turf, with green grass, shaded by fruit trees. The whole reminded me of Old England--dear, never-to=be-forgotten Old England! There was so much of a home-look about it that I felt sure of a welcome, and, throwing the reins to Zed, sprung off my horse and mounted the old stone steps to the door. I had no occasion to ring any bells--my coming had been espied. The door was open before I could stretch out my hand, and, besides the nice-looking negro who opened it, I could see two black girls going up a large oak staircase and looking over their shoulders.