consideration of places which otherwise would have been out of range; and during one of these intervals of mental disfixment we took a house.
It was not the end-house of a village, but it was in the outskirts of a very small rural settlement. Our nearest neighbour was within vigorous shooting distance, and the house suited us so well in other respects, that we concluded that this would do. The house was small, but large enough. There were some trees around it, and a little lawn in front. There was a garden, a small barn and stable, a pasture field, and land enough besides for small patches of corn and potatoes. The rent was low, the water good, and no one can imagine how delighted we were.
We did not furnish the whole house at first, but what mattered it? We had no horse or cow, but the pasture and barn were ready for them. We did not propose to begin with everything at once. Our first evening in that house was made up of hours of unalloyed bliss. We walked from room to room; we looked out on the garden and the lawn; we sat on the little porch while I smoked.
"We were happy at Rudder Grange," said Euphemia; "but that was only a canal-boat, and could not, in the nature of things, have been a permanent home."
"No," said I, "it could not have been permanent; but in many respects, it was a delightful home. The very name of it brings pleasant thoughts."
"It was a nice name," said Euphemia, "and I'll tell you what we might do: Let us call this place Rudder Grange—the new Rudder Grange! The name will do just as well for a house as for a boat."
I agreed on the spot, and the house was christened.
Our household was small; we had a servant—
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