Spell Land

They had reached the bottom of the lane, where the twilight lay on the great pond by Fryman's Farm, and leaving the marle, they struck out across the meadows southward. Widow's Farm stood some fifty yards from the road winding between Sedlescombe and Westfield. Mr. Gilmour did not farm it, the yard and barns being in the charge of his landlord; but he told Claude that he had taken the house on a long lease because it was beautiful.

Things were not often done for that reason at Spell Land, so the boy stared rather curiously at Widow's, expecting the marvellous. It was a long low building, the roof, of red tiles, crimping over the rafters, the upper story of white plaster, chequered with the moving shadows of trees. It seemed to him old and tumble-down--not nearly so attractive as his own home, which had been built barely twelve years.

He was even less favourably impressed with the interior. He was told to carry his cheese