"Well," said Jeff, "we had to give Fox away. He was always cross with the
boarders' children. My brother was on from Colorado, and he took Fox back
with him."
"I didn't suppose," said Westover, "that I should have been sorry to miss
Fox. But I guess I shall be."
Jeff seemed to enjoy the implication of his words. "He wasn't a bad dog.
He was stupid."
When they arrived at the foot of the lane, mounting to the farm, Westover
saw what changes had been made in the house. There were large additions,
tasteless and characterless, but giving the rooms that were needed. There
was a vulgar modernity in the new parts, expressed with a final intensity
in the four-light windows, which are esteemed the last word of domestic
architecture in the country. Jeff said nothing as they approached the
house, but Westover said: "Well, you've certainly prospered. You're quite
magnificent."
They reached the old level in front of the house, artificially widened
out of his remembrance, with a white flag-pole planted at its edge, and
he looked up at the front of the house, which was unchanged, except that
it had been built a story higher back of the old front, and discovered
the window of his old room. He could hardly wait to get his greetings
over with Mrs. Durgin and Jackson, who both showed a decorous pleasure
and surprise at his coming, before he asked:
"And could you let me have my own room, Mrs. Durgin?"
"Why, yes," she said, "if you don't want something a little nicer."
"I don't believe you've got anything nicer," Westover said.
"All right, if you think so," she retorted. "You can have the old room,
anyway."