It was a plain brick house, three full stories, with four broadchimneys, and overhanging eaves. The tradition was that it had been acolonial tavern—a dot among the fir-covered northern hills on theclimbing post-road into Canada. The village scattered along the roadbelow the inn was called Albany—and soon forgotten when the railroadsought an opening through a valley less rugged, eight miles to the west.
Rather more than thirty years ago[Pg 4] the Doctor had arrived, one summerday, and opened all the doors and windows of the neglected old house,which he had bought from scattered heirs. He was a quiet man, theDoctor, in middle life then or nearly so; and he sank almost withoutremark into the world of Albany, where they raise hay and potatoes andstill cut good white pine off the hills. Gradually the old brick tavernresumed the functions of life: many buildings were added to it as wellas many acres of farm and forest to the Doctor's original purchase ofintervale land. The new Master did not open his house to the public, yethe, too, kept a sort of Inn, where men came and stayed a long time.Although no sign now hung from the old elm tree in front of the house,[Pg 5]nevertheless an ever-widening stream of humanity mounted the windingroad from White River and passed through the doors of the Inn, seekinglife....
That first summer the Doctor brought with him Sam, the Chinaman, whom weall came to know and love, and also a young man, who loafed much whilethe Doctor worked, and occasionally fished. This was John Herring—now afamous architect—and it was from his designs, sketched those first idlesummer days, that were built all the additions to the simple oldhouse—the two low wings in the rear for the "cells," with the Italiangarden between them; the marble seat curving around the pool that joinedthe wings on the west; also the substan[Pg 6]tial wall that hid the Inn, itsterraced gardens and orchards, from Albanian curiosity. Herring found astore of red brick in som