The house was an old-fashioned , weather-gray one , low in the eaves , with gables and porches overgrown with vines that had turned to wine-reds and rich bronzes in the October frosts . On three sides it was closed in by tall old spruces , their outer sides bared and grim from long wrestling with the Atlantic winds , but their inner green and feathery . On the fourth side a trim white paling shut in the flower garden before the front door . Cecily could see the beds of purple and scarlet asters , making rich whorls of color under the parlor and sitting-room windows . Lucy Ellen 's bed was gayer and larger than Cecily 's . Lucy Ellen had always had better luck with flowers . She could see old Boxer asleep on the front porch step and Lucy Ellen 's white cat stretched out on the parlor window-sill . There was no other sign of life about the place . Cecily drew a long , leisurely breath of satisfaction . `` After tea I 'll dig up those dahlia roots , '' she said aloud . `` They 'd ought to be up . My , how blue and soft that sea is ! I never saw such a lovely day . I 've been gone longer than I expected . I wonder if Lucy Ellen 's been lonesome ? '' When Cecily looked back from the misty ocean to the house , she was surprised to see a man coming with a jaunty step down the lane under the gnarled spruces . She looked at him perplexedly . He must be a stranger , for she was sure no man in Oriental walked like that . `` Some agent has been pestering Lucy Ellen , I suppose , '' she muttered vexedly . The stranger came on with an airy briskness utterly foreign to Orientalites .
XXXXX opened the gate and went through .
Atlantic Boxer Cecily Ellen bronzes day eaves fourth gayer spruces