Here's the park gate." They walked up an avenue overarched by elms, to a house old but not so old, once half-ruinous, but now mended and being mended, enlarged, and decorated, the aim a spacious place alike venerable and modern.
Workmen yet swarmed about it.

The whole presented a busy, cheerful aspect--a gracious one, also, for under a monster elm before the terrace was found the master and owner, Mr.Archibald Touris.

He greeted the youths with a manner meant to exhibit the expansive heart of a country gentleman.
"You've found each other out, have you?
Why, you look born to be friends! That's as it should be .-- And what, Alexander, do you think of Black Hill ?" "It looks finely a rich man's place, sir." Mr.Touris laughed at his country bluntness, but did not take the tribute amiss.

"Not so rich--not so mighty rich.

But enough, enough! If Ian here behaves himself he'll have enough!" A master workman called him away.