Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 108: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

~ By EDMUND ELLIOT R. RICHARD GRAHAM, mining engineer by profession, pushed his heavy motorcycle up the last few yards of the steep rise that had proved too much for an engine already rebellious, and halted with a sigh of relief. To the left the woods, fresh, vivid, odorous of spring and new life in their early June dress, cut off all view, but to the right the ground fell away in the mighty sweep of the Pemmagawassett Valley to the river sparkling in the early morning sun- shine, Beyond, hills piled on hills, mountains on mountains, as far as the eye could reach. Before him the road, visible for a mile or more, wound downward at—for northern New Hampshire—a quite moderate angle. Graham’s eyes, following the road, rested upon a collection of buildings perhaps half a mile distant, and he nodded contentedly as he drew a letter from his pocket and opened it. He read: It’s a jolly old joint, known as the Dennet place; but I call it Mystery Farm, for the neighbors seem to think—though they won’t say much—that there is something queer about it, and about me for buying it; not haunted exactly, but not just “canny.” I should worry. A touch of mystery is the spice of life. You can’t miss it, Dick; when you reach the top of the worst hill of your experience, with a deep valley to the right, and about two-thirds of New Hampshire spread out like an ordinance map before you, you will see half a mile away, Mystery Farm. The main building is a two-story and attic four-square stone affair, built in 1774, but a number of wings, ells and additions, including a stable connected by a woodshed to the kitchen ell, have been built from time to time since; and I have added a ten-foot front porch, and a small garage. : > " wt - ee ee ne 5 ee