It was an awful big house for one man, but he was queer.
There's nobody livin' there now but two young people, sort of temporary,
I guess, though the place belongs to 'em. I don't think they are any too
well off. They don't give us hack-drivers much custom, never havin' any
friends comin' or goin', or trunks or anything. He's got no other
business, they say, and don't know no more about farmin' than a potato
knows about preachin'. There's nothin' on the place that amounts to
anything except the barn. There's a wonderful barn there, that old
Butterwood spent nobody knows how much money on, and he a bachelor. You
can't see the barn from here, but I'll drive you where you can get a good
look at it."
In a few minutes, he made a turn, and whipped up his horse to a better
speed, and before Mrs. Drane and her daughter could comprehend the state
of affairs, they were rolling over a not very well kept private road, and
approaching the front of a house.
"Where are you going, driver?" exclaimed Mrs. Drane, leaning forward in
astonishment.
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