The front gate, with its wide white posts, still held the records of her growth, for each year her grandfather had stood her against it and marked her progress.

The huge green tub holding the crape myrtle was once a park where she and Annette had played dolls, and once it had served as a burying-ground when Carter's sling brought down a sparrow.

The ice house, with its steep roof, recalled a thrilling tobogganing experience when she was six.

Grandfather had laughed over the torn gown, and bade her do it again.
It was the trees, though, that she loved best of all; for they were friendly old poplar-trees on which the bark formed itself into all sorts of curious eyes.

One was a wicked old stepfather eye with a heavy lid; she remembered how she used to tiptoe past it and pretend to be afraid.