It is melancholy to think how much valuable property was engulphed in
this untrodden waste, how many shuttlecocks, hit a little too hard, had
toppled over and settled on some flowery clump, in full view of, but out
of reach for ever of their unfortunate possessor; how many marbles had
bounded over and leaped into the green abyss; how many bits of
slate-pencil, humming-tops, little ships made of walnut-shells, and
other most precious articles, had been lost there to human ken, and now
lay hidden and mouldering away!

Sometimes when Peter had lost anything of more than common value, he
would complain to his aunt, or his mother, and hint a humble wish that
he could get it again. On such occasions his mother would remark, with a
languid sigh, that it certainly did seem a pity such a fine piece of
land should lie waste; but if Peter followed up the conversation by
declaring that he could easily climb over the gate and get down into the
garden if he might, he was immediately met by such stern rebukes from
all parties, and such fervent assurances that if he ever dared to do
such a thing he should certainly be sent to school, that he grew to the
age of seven years with two deep impressions on his mind; first, that it
would be very wicked to go down into the garden; second, that it would
be very dreadful to be sent to school.

One very fine hot day in July Madam Melcombe had caused a table to be
set in the gallery, that she might enjoy her early tea in the open air.
Peter and the rest of the party were with her, and after a long silence
he turned towards her and said, "Grandmother, there are no ghosts in our
house, are there?"

"Ne'er a one," exclaimed the nurse with zealous promptitude, "they