"Mrs. Trussit, where _is_ Patagonia? It came in the history this morning."

"North of the Caribbean Sea, I believe, my dear."

And so on, and Peter never forgot any of her answers. About the
carol-singers she was a little irritable. They had woken her it seemed from
a very delightful sleep, and she considered the whole affair "savoured of
Paganism." And then Peter found suddenly that he didn't wish to talk about
the carol-singers at all because the things that he felt about them were,
in some curious way, not the things that he could say to Mrs. Trussit.

She was very kind to him during that Christmas week and gave him mixed
biscuits out of a brightly shining tin that she kept in a cupboard in her
room. But outside the gates of her citadel she was a very different person,
spoke to Peter but rarely, and then always with majesty and from a long way
away. Her attitude to the little maid-of-all-work was something very
wonderful indeed, and even to Aunt Jessie her tone might be considered
patronising.

But indeed to Aunt Jessie it was very difficult to be anything else. Aunt
Jessie was a poor creature, as Peter discovered very early in life. He
found that she never had any answers ready to the questions that he asked
her and that she hesitated when he wished to know whether he might do a
thing or no. She was always trembling and shaking, and no strong-minded
person ever wore mittens. He had a great contempt for his aunt....

On New Year's Eve, the last day but one of release from old Parlow, Mr.
Westcott spent the day doing business in Truro, and at once the atmosphere
over Scaw House seemed to lighten. The snow had melted away, and there was
a ridiculous feeling of spring in the air; ridiculous because it was still