Well, I am at home. I sit down this misty autumn morning in my
lonely room, and wish for some work or if not that, for something
to play with. I am too old for dolls, but very young in the way
of amusement. Ah--the closet! I'll unlock that; the key is at
hand--in my writing-desk.

Open Sesame! On the top shelf sits little Fancie, her eyes
shining like diamonds in her soft, dusky cobweb. She nods, so do
I, and we are in Greenside again--on a summer evening. How the
crickets sing; and the tree-toads harp in the trees as if they
were a picket guard entirely surrounding us. Hueston's big dog
barks in the lane at just the right distance. What security I
used to feel when I was a little child, tucked away in my bed,
and heard a dog bark a mile away; too far off ever to come up and
bite, and yet near enough to frighten prowling robbers!

"When in the breeze the distant watch-dog bayed," I was about to
say; but Polly, who is at Greenside with me, calls, "Just hear
the mosquitoes."

The blinds must be closed. What a delicious smell comes in! The
dew wetting all the shrubs and flowers distils sweet odors. What
a family of moths have rushed in; this big, brown one, with white
and red markings, is very enterprising. He has voyaged twice down
the lamp chimney, as if it were the funnel of a steamship.

Get out, moth!

"Sho," she answers in a husky voice, as if very dry, "It is my
nature to; that's all you know, turning us to moral purposes,