It was still daylight, but there was a long walk before me.
Chestnut Street was across the river, in the more aristocratic section.
I had hauled lumber there the first day of my work, and recalled its characteristics--long rows of stone-front houses, with an occasional residence standing alone, set well back from the street.

It was dark enough when I got there, and began seeking the number.

I followed the block twice in uncertainty, so many of the houses were dark, but finally located the one I believed must be 108.

It was slightly back from the street, a large stone mansion, surrounded by a low coping of brick and with no light showing anywhere.

I was obliged to mount the front steps before I could assure myself this was the place.