There were sturdy Teel, and heavy Eaton, and
frisky Burnham, and bluff Rykman, with round-eyed Fanny Dwight and
another graceful Fanny, and oh! so many more men and women, friends and
workers striving for a sublime idea. I could describe very many of them
and the minute details of all the houses and surroundings, but it would
unwisely overcrowd these pages.
Mounting the central and highest portion of the farm I found it was
beautifully situated in an amphitheatre surrounded by hills on all
sides, and formed a charming picture. There was a young orchard of
apple trees, and here and there stood a few shade trees by the walls
and roadside. There were fields, or rather patches, where corn and
vegetables were grown for family use. Some of them were exposed on the
southern faces of the hills, and some were in the hollows. In front was
the broad, meadow, like a pleasant sea of green, stretching far away.
From the first house, the old farmhouse called now "the Hive"--a pretty
and well-chosen name--the driveway led to the other houses. It
descended nearly to the level of the meadow, and did not rise again
until it neared the "Pilgrim House," the most distant one. From that it
turned on itself on the high ground toward the "Cottage" and "Eyry,"
the remaining houses.
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