“It seems a very long time from those days to now,” Mrs. Bagot said, “and yet the lane is exactly the same. It’s a full mile from the village of Oylegate to Poulbwee, and yet it never seemed like a mile. The lane is so nice, the way it turns around to suit the fields and then goes straight between the hedges when it gets a chance. And I used to like opening and shutting the gates as I went along. I never climbed over them. I always opened the gates and then shut them after me. And the last big turn you make, that brings you in sight of the house, the lane widens out and gets wider as you get nearer the house, and there are very high trees on each side along that last stretch. There was a place along there where I used to find white ivy.”

Poulbwee is a very long two-story farmhouse with a deep thatched roof. The house is whitewashed and the front door is painted green. The front door stands open on a square hall that is only large enough to step into. To the right is the door leading into the parlor. That door is always kept closed. To the left is the kitchen with the door always open. The inside wall facing you has a very small window in it so that anybody sitting at the kitchen hearth can peer out and see who is coming along the lane.