Look, Anne--there's our house." Anne looked and forgot for a time the girl with the splendid, resentful eyes.

The first glimpse of her new home was a delight to eye and spirit--it looked so like a big, creamy seashell stranded on the harbor shore.

The rows of tall Lombardy poplars down its lane stood out in stately, purple silhouette against the sky.

Behind it, sheltering its garden from the too keen breath of sea winds, was a cloudy fir wood, in which the winds might make all kinds of weird and haunting music.

Like all woods, it seemed to be holding and enfolding secrets in its recesses,--secrets whose charm is only to be won by entering in and patiently seeking.