It overlooked the village and the river a long way up and down.

It was a brown-looking, antiquated mansion, built by the Doctor's grandfather in the earlier days of the settlement.

The rooms were large and low, with great beams, scaly with whitewash, running across them, scarcely above the reach of a tall man's head.
Great-throated fireplaces, filled with pine-boughs and flower-pots, gave promise of winter fires, roaring and crackling in boisterous hilarity, as if laughing to scorn the folly and discomfort of our modern stoves.
In the porch at the frontdoor were two seats, where the Doctor was accustomed to sit in fine weather with his pipe and his book, or with such friends as might call to spend a half hour with him.

The lawn in front had scarcely any other ornament than its green grass, cropped short by the Doctor's horse.

A stone wall separated it from the lane, half overrun with wild hop, or clematis, and two noble rock-maples arched over with their dense foliage the little red gate.