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She's paler, and has a certain air or
style that don't seem just natural to the hill. Well, thank the
Lord! she doesn't seem sorry to go up the hill once more."
"There's the old place, Susie, waiting for you," he said. "It
doesn't look so very bleak, does it, after all the fine city
houses you've seen?"
"Yes, father, it does. It never appeared so bleak before."
He looked at his home, and in the late gray afternoon, saw it in a
measure with her eyes--the long brown, bare slopes, a few gaunt
old trees about the house, and the top boughs of the apple-orchard
behind a sheltering hill in the rear of the dwelling.
"Father," resumed the girl, "we ought to call our place the Bleak
House. I never so realized before how bare and desolate it looks,
standing there right in the teeth of the north wind."
His countenance fell, but he had no time for comment. A moment
later Susie was in her mother's arms. The farmer lifted the trunk
to the horse-block and drove to the barn. "I guess it will be the
old story," he muttered. "Home has become 'Bleak House.


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