The house was old and low, having a small porch in front, but if it ever had seen paint, it did not show it at that time.

It was a warm linty gray, the shingles of the old roof almost moss-covered.
"The joke IS on me," said Kate.

"I shall have no quarrel with the paint here, and will you look at that ?" Adam looked where Kate pointed across the street, and nodded.
"That ought to be put in a gold frame," he said.
"I think so, too," said Kate.

"I shouldn't be a bit surprised if I stay where I can see it." They were talking of a deep gully facing the house and running to a levee where the street crossed.

A stream ran down it, dipped under a culvert, turned sharply, and ran away to a distant river, spanning which they could see the bridge.