The Haunting of Low Fennel

"There's Low Fennel," said Major Dale. We pulled up short on the brow of the hill. Before me lay a little valley carpeted with heather, purple slopes hemming it in. A group of four tall firs guarded the house, which was couched in the hollow of the dip-a low, rambling building, in parts showing evidence of great age and in other parts of the modern improver. "That's the new wing," continued the Major, raising his stick; "projecting out this way. It's the only addition I've made to the house, which, as it stood, had insufficient accommodation for the servants."