Perhaps one may be pardoned for being a little
sentimental in thinking back about one's first house.
The air, on that surprising afternoon, carried us again into the
very sensation and reality of those days, for there is an openness
and breezy stir on those plains that is characteristic. In the
tree-lined streets of the village, where old white clapboarded
houses with green or pale blue shutters stand in a warm breath of
box hedges, the feeling is quite different. Out on the Long Island
prairie--which Walt Whitman, by the way, was one of the first to
love and praise--you stand uncovered to all the skirmish of heaven,
and the feathery grasses are rarely still. There was the chimney of
the fireplace we had built for us, and we remembered how the
wood-smoke used to pour gallantly from it like a blue pennon of
defiance. The present owner, we fear, does not know how much
impalpable and unforgotten gold leaped up the wide red throat of
that chimney, or he would not dream of selling. Yes, the neighbours
tell us that he wants to sell. In our day, the house was said to be
worth $3,000. Nowadays, the price is $7,000. Even at that it is
cheap, if you set any value on amiable and faithful ghosts.
Oh, little house on the plains, when our typewriter forgets thee,
may this shift key lose its function!
[Illustration]
TADPOLES
Near our house, out in the sylvan Salamis Estates, there is a pond.
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