heart. Missy wouldn't trade off her mother for the world.

But when, later, she wandered into the front parlour, she couldn't
help wishing it were a "drawing-room." And when she moved on out to
the side porch, she viewed with a certain discontent the peaceful
scene before her. Usually she had loved the side porch at the sunset
hour: the close fragrance of honeysuckles which screened one end,
the stretch of slick green grass and the nasturtium bed aflame like
an unstirring fire, the trees rustling softly in the evening breeze-
-yes, she loved it all for the very tranquillity, the poignant
tranquillity of it.

But that was before she realized there were in the world vast swards
that swept beyond pleasure-grounds (what WERE "pleasure-grounds"?),
past laughing brooklets and gurgling streams, on to the Park where
roamed herds of many-antlered deer and where mighty oaks flung their
arms far and wide; while mayhap, on a topmost branch, a crow swayed
and swung as the soft wind rushed by, making an inky blot upon the
brilliant green, as if it were a patch upon the alabaster cheek of
some court belle . . .

Oh, enchanting!

But there were no vast swards nor pleasure-grounds nor Parks of
antlered deer in Cherryvale.

Then Poppylinda, the majestic black cat, trod up the steps of the
porch and rubbed herself against her mistress's foot, as if saying,
"Anyhow, I'm here!"