Hilda was
conscious of a vague delight, through all her fatigue and distress How
beautiful it was; how cool and green and restful! If she must stay in
the country, why could it not be always in the woods, where there was no
noise, nor dust, nor confusion?
Her revery was broken in upon by Dame Hartley's voice crying cheerily,--
"And here we are, out of the woods at last! Cheer up, my pretty, and let
me show you the first sight of the farm. It's a pleasant, heartsome
place, to my thinking."
The trees opened left and right, stepping back and courtesying, like
true gentlefolks as they are, with delicate leaf-draperies drooping low.
The sun shone bright and hot on a bit of hard, glaring yellow road, and
touched more quietly the roofs and chimneys of an old yellow farm-house
standing at some distance from the road, with green rolling meadows on
every side, and a great clump of trees mounting guard behind it. A low
stone wall, with wild-roses nodding over it, ran along the roadside for
some way, and midway in it was a trim, yellow-painted gate, which stood
invitingly open, showing a neat drive-way, shaded on either side by
graceful drooping elms. Old Nancy pricked up her ears and quickened her
pace into a very respectable trot, as if she already smelt her oats.
Dame Hartley shook her own comfortable shoulders and gave a little sigh
of relief, for she too was tired, and glad to get home. But Hilda
tightened her grasp on the handle of her dressing-bag, and closed her
eyes with a slight shiver of dislike and dread.
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