There was a door from it opening on a square stone-flagged court with a vertical sun-dial on the wall; and beyond that ranges of disused coach-houses--all cloudy, as it were, with cobwebs hanging on old-fashioned post-chaises.

Dickon was in love with one of the maids, a remarkably handsome girl.
She showed me the famous mantelpiece, a vast carved work, under which you could stand upright.

The legend was that once a year on a certain night a sable horse and cloaked horseman rode across that great apartment, flames snorting from the horse's nostrils, and into the fireplace, disappearing with a clap of thunder.

She brought me, too, an owl from the coach-houses, holding the bird by the legs firmly, her hand defended by her apron from the claws.
The butler was a little merry fellow, extremely fond of a gun, and expert in using it.

He seemed to have nothing to do but tell tales and sing, except at the rare intervals when some of the family returned unexpectedly.