"Give me your hand, then. Listen to the music, and shut your eyes
till I tell you to open them."

Mollie closed her eyes. She had a queer swimmy feeling, as if she
were in a high swing and were just swooping down to the lowest
point. All the time Aunt Mary's tunes went on, but they seemed to go
farther and farther away.

"Open," said a soft voice.

* * * * *

The darkened room had vanished, and the ticking clock; Aunt Mary's
tunes and the rain splashing on the window-panes; the sofa too, and
the prim child. And Mollie herself!

* * * * *

She was standing in a sunny road, with one foot on a white painted
wooden gate, upon which she had evidently been swinging. The gate
opened into a large garden, and before her lay a broad path planted
on either side with tall, pointed cypress trees, their thin shadows
lying across the walk like black bars. Between the trees ran narrow
flower-beds, and beyond these stretched a wide, open space, so
solidly spread with yellow dandelions that it looked as though the
golden floor of heaven had come to rest upon earth. The path, with
its sentinel trees, led straight as a rod to a distant house, long
and low, surrounded by a vine-covered veranda. There were strange,
sweet smells in the air, which felt soft and warm. The sky was
brilliantly blue, and on the fence across the road a gorgeous parrot