"It's just terrific," said a beaming Richard Harris, as he surveyed his beloved 19th-century stone house Friday afternoon in its new majestic setting, 120 feet farther from the road than it had been 31/2 hours earlier.

"Congratulations, sweetie! It seems like it was always here," said his wife, Suzanne, as she gave him a kiss.

Also satisfied was the four-man crew from Wolfe House & Building Movers. Combining state-of-the-art technology - laser levels, a unified hydraulic jacking system, remote-controlled dollies - and an antique work ethic, the crew had dazzled Harris, his family, and a few dozen spectators with its efficiency and quiet competence.

Project manager Jamin Buckingham, who had guided the 500-ton house inch by careful inch to its new location with a handheld device, was modest about what appeared to be a spectacular feat.

"A pretty normal job," he said. On a 1-to-10 scale, he ranked the degree of difficulty at 5.

"It's really not that difficult. It's just a matter of taking your time," said Buckingham, who is as economical with words as he is diligent.

The fact that the main part of the house, on the outskirts of Lansdale, was built of stone and held together with a brittle mix of mud, horsehair and lime seemingly made the task more challenging. But if he was anxious, Buckingham, all of 26, didn't show it. Last year, his company, headquartered near Reading in Bernville, Pa., handled 185 jobs, including moving about a dozen stone houses.

"Never lost a house yet," said Buckingham, who was drawn into the business by his father and has been moving houses since he was a boy.

The company was founded in 1970 as Verling H. Wolfe House Movers. Buckingham and three brothers took over about six years ago. Their reputation has spread along the East Coast, and they have done work from Vermont to Virginia, from New Jersey to Ohio. The company also has a branch in Indiana that moves residences, commercial buildings, barns and historic structures in the Midwest.

In June, the company made a splash in Gotham when it relocated the Grange, Alexander Hamilton's 206-year-old "country home," to a park around the corner in Harlem. At the start of its journey, the Grange had to be jacked up 40 feet to clear the loggia of neighboring St. Luke's Episcopal Church.

Other notable jobs performed by Wolfe include moving the old stone schoolhouse and the Spread Eagle Inn in Richboro, Bucks County; moving a 19th-century stone farmhouse back from Route 202 at the Foulkeways at Gwynedd; and moving the observatory on the campus of Lehigh University.

Many Wolfe jobs involve raising structures for new foundations or to escape flooding conditions. But frequently the firm moves houses that are next to busy roads. That was what motivated Harris.

From the outset, the charm of the old farmhouse had beguiled him, but it was so close to the road - about 15 feet - that Harris hesitated to buy it. In the end, he overcame his reservations, and for four decades it has been the family homestead, the place where he and his wife raised five sons.

"The house holds a lot of memories," said Harris, 68, a retired fitness entrepreneur and health-club owner who has run the Boston Marathon 33 times.

The house was also "a lifetime remodeling project." The handy Harris removed the stucco to expose the fieldstone. He replaced the slate roof. He doubled the size of the house with four additions, one done in stone to match the original edifice, three sided with logs to create a rustic look appropriate for a dwelling built in 1850.

When the house was constructed, it stood by a quiet country lane. But as Towamencin Township evolved from farmland to suburbia, Troxel Road evolved from dirt road to heavily trafficked thoroughfare. Today, cars whiz by at a steady clip. When heavy trucks rumble past, the house vibrates.

"It's been my life dream to get my home off the road," said Harris.

That dream came true Friday.

The process began about two weeks ago when the Wolfe crew excavated around the foundation. Holes were poked through the foundation, and three 77-foot steel beams were inserted the length of the house. On top of those were placed 20 crossbeams, which were shimmed to fit the stonework and grouted into the foundation to secure it.

With 16 interconnected hydraulic jacks, the house was raised in increments ranging from 6 to 12 inches until it stood about 31/2 feet above the foundation walls.

"The whole house is sitting on oil," quipped Buckingham.

This so-called "unified hydraulic jacking system" enabled the house to be elevated so that it was perfectly level, each jack adjusting to the varying load above it. With this system, it's possible to move a house so gingerly that if you placed a full glass of water inside, nary a drop would spill. In fact, the Harrises' house was moved with all their belongings - furniture, clothing, china, and Richard's running plaques and trophies. After the house was jacked up to the right height, it was supported by numerous cribbing piles, lengths of 6-by-6 timber stacked crosswise.

On Friday, the move began at 10 a.m. With the remote control, Buckingham transmitted signals to a chugging hydraulic power unit clamped to beams on the front porch, which propelled 11 dollies with 88 tires over steel plates laid across the loose dirt. Each dolly supports the house with a hydraulic piston that automatically moves up and down to adapt to the terrain and keep the entire structure even. Devised and perfected by the Buckingham brothers, this system is far superior to earlier methods, such as transporting a house on skids or a flatbed trailer, pulled and pushed by bulldozers.

The move was tricky because Buckingham had to maneuver around four pin oaks that surrounded the house. This required four stages or changes of directions. First the house was rotated back from the road about 30 feet. Then it was moved sideways. Then it was turned at about a 45-degree angle to the road. Then it was eased between the lines of the gravel pad on which it will sit forevermore.

Those who witnessed the operation were impressed.

"This is an engineering marvel," said Dave Martin, 58, a neighbor and neuroscientist who had taken the day off to watch. "To see something so large and heavy being moved so delicately is unbelievable. These guys are like surgeons; they're amazing."

"I've told everyone there's one thing I want to do before I die," said Harris, looking like a man who could see what his house would look like when all the dirt piles were leveled and it was magnificently landscaped. "Now they can just bury me here."

As for Buckingham, he was typically terse and self-effacing. "It's amazing what you can do with hydraulic oil," he said.