It gives me that pleasant ache again just to think of coming to a really truly home.

Oh, isn't that pretty!" They had driven over the crest of a hill.

Below them was a pond, looking almost like a river so long and winding was it.

A bridge spanned it midway and from there to its lower end, where an amber-hued belt of sand-hills shut it in from the dark blue gulf beyond, the water was a glory of many shifting hues--the most spiritual shadings of crocus and rose and ethereal green, with other elusive tintings for which no name has ever been found.

Above the bridge the pond ran up into fringing groves of fir and maple and lay all darkly translucent in their wavering shadows.