died young. It was no use, the agents told Nancy, to think about a
pretty, shabby, old farm-house, for those had been snapped up. If
she found one, it would be a foolish investment, because it
probably would be surrounded by unrestricted property.
Restrictions were great things, and all developments had them in
large or small degree. There were developments that obliged the
purchaser of land to submit his building plans to a committee,
before he could build.

Nancy laughed that she shouldn't care for THAT. And when
restrictions interfered with her plans she very vigorously opposed
them. She told Bert that she would not consider places that did
not allow fences, and chickens, and dogs, and all the other
pleasant country things.

Sometimes, in an economical mood, the Bradleys looked at the six
and seven thousand dollar bargains. It had to be admitted that
some of them were extremely nice. Nice neighbourhoods, young trees
set out along the street--trees about the size of carriage whips--
nice sunny bathroom, nice bedrooms--"we could change these
papers," Nancy always said--good kitchen and closets, gas all
ready to connect, and an open fireplace in the dining room. And so
back to the front hall again, and to a rather blank moment when
the agent obviously expected a definite decision, and the Bradleys
felt unable to make it.

"What don't you like about the place?" the agent would ask.

"Well--" Bert would flounder. "I don't know. I'll talk it over
with my wife!"