The house was not unpicturesque.

It was built on a corner, facing two streets.

One front was a story high, with a slanting roof; the other, which was two-storied, sloped like a giraffe's back, down to a wood-shed.

Clean cobwebs hung from its rafters, and neat heaps of fragrant chips were piled on the floor.
The house had many rooms, all more or less dark and irregularly shaped.

The construction of the chambers was so involved, I could not get out of one without going into another.