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I
Heremindedherofthegentlemanwhohad“explained”thepicturesatNettleton,andtheweightofherignorancesettleddownonheragainlikeapall.
“Imean,Ican’tseethatyouhaveanybooksontheoldhousesabouthere.Isuppose,forthatmatter,thispartofthecountryhasn’tbeenmuchexplored.TheyallgoondoingPlymouthandSalem.Sostupid.Mycousin’shouse,now,isremarkable.Thisplacemusthavehadapast—itmusthavebeenmoreofaplaceonce.”Hestoppedshort,withtheblushofashymanwhooverhearshimself,andfearshehasbeenvoluble.“I’manarchitect,yousee,andI’mhuntingupoldhousesintheseparts.”
Shestared.“Oldhouses?Everything’soldinNorthDormer,isn’tit?Thefolksare,anyhow.”
Helaughed,andwanderedawayagain.
“Haven’tyouanykindofahistoryoftheplace?Ithinktherewasonewrittenabout1840:abookorpamphletaboutitsfirstsettlement,”hepresentlysaidfromthefartherendoftheroom.
Shepressedhercrochethookagainstherlipandpondered.Therewassuchawork,sheknew:“NorthDormerandtheEarlyTownshipsofEagleCounty.”Shehadaspecialgrudgeagainstitbecauseitwasalimpweaklybookthatwasalwayseitherfallingofftheshelforslippingbackanddisappearingifonesqueezeditinbetweensustainingvolumes.Sheremembered,thelasttimeshehadpickeditup,wonderinghowanyonecouldhavetakenthetroubletowriteabookaboutNorthDormeranditsneighbours:Dormer,Hamblin,CrestonandCrestonRiver
