Gabriella followed his gesture with apprehensive eyes and beheld
away off a big comfortable-looking two-story brick dwelling with
white-washed fences around it and all sorts of white-washed houses
on one side or the other--a plain, sweet, country, Kentucky home,
God bless it! The whiteness won Gabriella at once; and with the
whiteness went other things just as good: the assurance everywhere
of thrift, comfort. Not a weed in sight, but September bluegrass,
deep flowing, or fresh-ploughed fields or clean stubble. Every rail
in its place on every fence; every gate well swung. Everything in
sight in the way of live stock seemed to Gabriella either young or
just old enough. The very stumps they passed looked healthy.

Her conjecture had been correct: the slender slip of a woman met
her at the side porch a little diffidently, with a modest smile;
then kissed her on the mouth and invited her in. The supper table
was already set in the middle of the room; and over in one corner
was a big white bed--with a trundle bed (not visible) under it.
Gabriella "took off her things" and laid them on the snowy
counterpane; and the housewife told her she would let the children
entertain her for a few minutes while she saw about supper.

The children accepted the agreement. They swarmed about her as
about a new cake. Two or three of the youngest began to climb over
her as they climbed over the ice-house, to sit on her as they sat
on the stiles. The oldest produced their geographies and
arithmetics and showed her how far they had gone. (They had gone a
great deal farther than Gabriella!) No one paid the least attention
to any one else, or stood in awe of anything or anybody: Fear had
never come to that Jungle!