THE ABBEY

North and South Pack Mountains, and on a very clear day, Crotched Mountain in Francestown, New Hampshire. Continu-  ing in a southerly direction, you descended to a long stretch of woodland, carpeted with pine needles and abounding in many varieties of fern. There were occasional ledges fringed with     violets and, in season, patches of lady's slippers which we were  not allowed to pick, the theory being that once picked they      never grow again. Occasionally in the summer I used to see a mysterious elderly couple walking along this part of Highland Street. They were unsteady on their feet and leaned on each    other for support while their chauffeur, in a big black limousine, followed at a snail's pace about fifty yards behind. They were evidently rich city people who had come for an outing in the country, but who they were or where they came from I never knew.
   Mr. Welcome, the Nolte's caretaker, and later the Noltes themselves lived across the street from us on Love Lane; farther down was our farmhouse and still farther, the Freemans who    lived there only in summer. I used to call on Mrs. Freeman occasionally because I liked to feed the goldfish in her garden   pool and to have her read me stories or show me tricks with   string. She had had several children of her own but they all died     in infancy except one who lived to be about nine.
   In winter we seemed completely isolated, especially after a       big snowstorm. The boardwalks around the house were shoveled into deep canyons whose walls towered high above my head,  while the driveway was broken out with a homemade plow,    pulled by a single horse. As wheeled vehicles could not be used during this season, there was no need for any extensive plowing.

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