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V. The Black Wood by Day

           IhavelivedmostlyinFrancesincemyfatherdied."

           "Thatiswhyyourspeechissostrangetomyears."

           "Andyourstomine,"sheretorted."ButAuntGrizelisteachingmetobeagoodScotswoman.Iammadetospintillmyarmsareweary,andtomakehorridbrewsofherbs,andtocookyourstrangedishes.’Kaatrine,yedaftquean,whatformaunyefillthehoosewi’floorishandnestygreenbusses?D’yethinkwe’renowtandtheauldtowero’Calidonabyre?’ThatisAuntGrizel.Butsheislikeagooddogandbarksbutdoesnotbite,thoughtheserving-maidswalkinterror.Iplaywithheratthecartes,andshetellsmetales,butnotsuchgoodonesasUncleNick’s.Heigho!Iwishthewarswereoverandhewerehomeagain....Now,sir,whatdoyouthinkofthis?ItisthegateofParadise."

           Shehadledhimintoapartofthewoodwherethepinesceasedandagreencleftwaslinedwithburstinghazelsandrowansandthetasselsofbirch.Theplacewasratherhillthanwoodland,fortheturfwasasfineasonamountain-side,andinthecentreabubblingspringsentoutarivulet,whichtwinedamongtheflowerstillitdroppedinalongcascadetoalowershelf.Primroses,violets,andanemonesmadeitasbrightasagarden.

           "IcallthisParadise,"shesaid,"becauseitishardformortalstofind.Youwouldnotguessitwasheretillyoustumbledonit."

           "It’sawayfromthepines,"hesaid.

           Shenoddedherhead."Ilovethedarktreeswellenough,andonadaylikethisIamhappyamongthem.Buttheyaremoodythings,andwhenthereisnosunandthewindblowstheymakemesad.

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