Veronica was still gazing dreamily into the fire. “I suppose,” said Veronica, “it’s reditty.” “It’s what?” I said. “She means heredity,” suggested Dick—“cheeky young beggar! I wonder you let her talk to you the way she does.” “Besides,” added Robin, “as I am always explaining to you, Pa is a literary man. With him it is part of his temperament.” “It’s hard on us children,” said Veronica. We were all agreed—with the exception of Veronica—that it was time Veronica went to bed. As chairman I took it upon myself to closure the debate. CHAPTER II “DO you mean, Governor, that you have actually bought the house?” demanded Dick, “or are we only talking about it?” “This time, Dick,” I answered, “I have done it.” Dick looked serious. “Is it what you wanted?” he asked. “No, Dick,” I replied, “it is not what I wanted. I wanted an old-fashioned, picturesque, rambling sort of a place, all gables and ivy and oriel windows.” “You are mixing things up,” Dick interrupted, “gables and oriel windows don’t go together.” “I beg your pardon, Dick,” I corrected him, “in the house I wanted, they do. It is the style of house you find in the Christmas number. I have never seen it anywhere else, but I took a fancy to it from the first. It is not too far from the church, and it lights up well at night. ‘One of these days,’ I used to say to myself when a boy, ‘I’ll be a clever man and live in a house just like that.’ It was my dream.” “And what is this place like?” demanded Robin, “this place you have bought.” “The agent,” I explained, “claims for it that it is capable of improvement. I asked him to what school of architecture he would say it belonged; he said he thought that it must have been a local school, and pointed out—what seems to be the truth—that nowadays they do not build such houses.” “Near to the river?” demanded Dick. “Well, by the road,” I answered, “I daresay it may be a couple of miles.” “And by the shortest way?” questioned Dick. “That is the shortest way,” I explained; “there’s a prettier way through the woods, but that is about three miles and a half.” “But we had decided it was to be near the river,” said Robin. “We also decided,” I replied, “that it was to be on sandy soil, with a south-west aspect. Only one thing in this house has a south-west aspect, and that’s the back door. I asked the agent about the sand. He advised me, if I wanted it in any quantity, to get an estimate from the Railway Company. I wanted it on a hill. It is on a hill, with a bigger hill in front of it. I didn’t want that other hill. I wanted an uninterrupted view of the southern half of England. I wanted to take people out on the step, and cram them with stories about our being able on clear days to see the Bristol Channel. They might not have believed me, but without that hill I could have stuck to it, and they could not have been certain—not dead certain—I was lying.