When James Ranger, who was himself not a man of sentiment, showed the new aspirant for the renting of the place this fantastic building, he spoke of it with a species of apology.

“My sisters had this built,” said he, “and it cost considerable,” for he did not wish to disparage the money value of anything.

When the family were established in their new home, one of the first things which they did—­they signifying Mrs. Carroll, Miss Anna Carroll, the daughters Miss Ina and Miss Charlotte Carroll, and the son Edward Carroll, called Eddy by the family—­was to march in a body upon the little “Temple,” and, armed with stones, proceed with shouts of merriment to smash out every spear of the crimson and orange and blue glass in the windows.  They then demolished the rustic furniture and made of that a noble bonfire.  Mrs. Carroll had indeed wondered, between fits of laughter, in her sweet drawl, if they ought to destroy the furniture, as it could not be said, strictly speaking, to belong to them to destroy, but she was promptly vetoed by all the others in merry chorus.

“They are too hideous to live,” said Ina; “they ought to be burned.  It is our plain duty to burn them.”

Therefore they burned them, and brought out some of the parlor chairs to replace them.  Then Eddy was sent to Rosenstein’s, the village dry-goods store of Banbridge, for yards of green mosquito netting, which, the Carroll credit being newly established with a blare of trumpets, he purchased.  Then they had tacked up the green mosquito netting over the window and door gaps, for they had forcibly wrenched the ornate door from its hinges and added it to the bonfire, and the temple of the Muses stood in a film of gently undulating green under the green willows, and was rather a thing of beauty.

The Carrolls loved to pass away the time in that retreat veiled with cloudy green, through which they could see the dull glimmer of the pond, like an old shield of silver, reflecting the waving garlands of the willows, which at that time of year were as beautiful as trees of heaven, having effects of waving lines of liquid green light, and the charming violet-blue turf around them.

The afternoon of the call all the female members of the Carroll family were out there.  Captain Carroll was in the City, and Eddy, who, being a boy, was more susceptible to the lash of atmospheric influence, had gone fishing.

“I wonder why Eddy likes to go fishing,” said Mrs. Carroll, in her sweet drawl.  “Eddy never caught anything.”

“You don’t have a very high opinion of your son’s powers as a fisherman, Amy,” said Ina, and they all laughed.  The Carrolls were an easy-to-laugh family, and always seemed to find delicious humor in one another’s remarks.

“Amy never thinks any of us can catch anything,” said Charlotte, the younger daughter, and they all laughed again.

Mrs. Carroll was always Amy in her family.  Never did one of her children address her as a parent.