Nearer the house he came to the cedars and clipped pines, like those surrounding his mother's own home.
He opened the iron gate that led to the house, and tied his horse inside.

Here was the same desolation and silence that he had beheld at his own home.

The grass on the lawn, although withered and dry from the intense drought that had prevailed in Kentucky that summer, was long and showed signs of neglect.

The great stone pillars of the portico, from the shelter of which Harry and his father and their friends had fought Skelly and his mountaineers, were stained, and around their bases were dirty from the sand and earth blown against them.

The lawn and even the portico were littered with autumn leaves.
Dick felt the chill settling down on him again.