The brown river, streaked
with green where the fresher currents of the creeks poured in, circled
the base of a long hill that dominated the landscape from every
direction.
In spite of the fact that impertinent railroads were beginning to
crawl about its feet, and the flotsam and jetsam of the adjacent city
were gradually being deposited at its base, it nevertheless reared its
granite shoulders proudly and defiantly against the sky.
From the early days when the hill and rich surrounding farm lands had
been granted to the old pioneer William Carsey, one generation of
Carseys after another had lived in the stately old mansion that now
stood like the last remaining fortress against the city's invasion.
Sagging cornices and discolored walls had not dispelled the atmosphere
of contentment that enveloped the place, an effect heightened by the
wide front porch which ran straight across the face of it, like a
broad, complacent smile. Some old houses, like old gallants, bear an
unmistakable air of past prosperity, of past affairs. Romance has
trailed her garments near them and the fragrance lingers.
Thornwood, shabby and neglected, could still afford to drowse in the
sunshine and smile over the past.
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