The house we live in is an old one. My grandfather bought it many years ago. Father says that when he was a boy, it was right out in the country, about a kilometer from the town, and was surrounded by fields. But now the growing town has crept up to it and beyond it; and to get to the open country, we have to walk about half a kilometer.
But that does not matter so much to us, because our house stands in the middle of a large garden, which is surrounded on all sides by a high wall. So, although there are streets and houses all round us outside, we do not see them from the house and are quite private. The garden is large. Part of it is smooth grass, which my father keeps well cut; and quite half of it is a fruit orchard, where grow peach trees, loquats, pomegranates, and orange trees. In the spring when the peaches are in flower, and the orange blossom fills the air with perfume, it is a pleasant place indeed. In one corner is a well with a Persian wheel, and in the middle is a tank where fish live and the lotus grows. And we have a lot of flowers, especially roses.
Our house has two storyes. Downstairs is one very large room, more like a hall, where we spend most of our time. It has a marble floor, and because of its size, it is very cool in the hot weather. On the lower story, too, there are three smaller rooms, which my father, who is a barrister, uses as offices for himself and his clerks. His clients when waiting to see him sit in the broad verandah outside. Upstairs are four large rooms, which we use as bedrooms, and a small room which my father has given to me as my own little study. There I do my lessons and sit and read. In the hot weather, we sleep on the roof, which gets all the breezes because it is so high.
So, though our house is now in the town, we feel almost as though we are living in the country.