It consists of a long, low kitchen, with an
enormous hearth-place, an oaken settle, smoke-browned rafters, and a
bricked floor.
In the centre of the room is a massive but worm-eaten table, capable of
seating twenty persons at least. It was built up in the kitchen itself
some two hundred years ago, since no earthly ingenuity could have coaxed
it through the low windows or narrow door.
Two of these, latticed like those of my sitting room, with the door
between them, face west; but long before the sun is down the wooded
eminence opposite has intercepted all his beams. Outside is also a
garden, full of forget-me-not, daffodil, and other humble flowers. Here
Scot, the watch-dog, lies dreaming in his kennel, and beyond the gate
the cocks and hens lay dolefully in the rain, or bunch themselves up,
lumps of dirty feather, under the shelter of the wood shed.
Upstairs are three sleeping rooms, and the attics, with curious dormer
windows, still higher. We come down again to the first floor. A long
matted passage runs from one end of the house to the other. It sinks
half a step where the newer portion is joined on.
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