In later years the g*n room, still so called, had fallen from its previous dignity and served divers purposes. In my Uncle Horace’s time old Thomas, the gardener, used it on occasion as a potting room. And on wet days washing was hung up in it to dry. But it remained the “g*n room,” and so figures in this narrative.
In the re-building considerable judgment had been shown, and the broad white structure, with its colonial columns to the roof, makes a handsome appearance from the bay. It stands on a slight rise, facing the water, and its lawn extends to the edge of the salt marsh which divides it from the sea.
This is Twin Hollows. A place restful and beautiful to the eye; a gentleman’s home, with its larkspurs and zinnias, its roses and its sun-dial, its broad terrace, its great sheltered
