"Well, that being so," I said, taking my stick from the trap, and preparing to stroll off, "I'm just going to investigate a bit. You bring yourself to an anchor in yonder, my friend, and don't stir till I come for you again."
He took himself off without more ado, and I crossed the road towards the gates. They were locked, but the little entrance by the tumble-down cottage stood open, and passing through this I started up the drive. It was a perfect afternoon; the sunshine straggled in through the leafy canopy overhead and danced upon my path. To the right were the thick fastnesses of the preserves; while on the left, across the meadows I could discern the sparkle of water on the weir. I must have proceeded for nearly a mile through the wood before I caught sight of the house.
Then, what a strange experience was mine. Leaving the shelter of the trees, I opened on to the most superb park the mind of man could imagine. A herd of deer were grazing quietly just before me, a woodman was eating his dinner in the shadow of an oak; but it was not upon deer or woodman that I looked, but rather at the house that stared at me across the undulating sea of grass.
It was a noble building, of grey stone, in shape almost square, with many curious buttresses and angles. The drive ran up to it in a grand sweep, and upon the green that fronted it some big trees reared their stately heads. In my time I'd heard a lot of talk about the stately homes of England, but this was the first time I'd ever set eyes on one. And to think that this was my father's birthplace, the place where my family had lived for centuries. I could only stand and stare at it in sheer amazement.
