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. Beyond, by the arbor, were two smaller trees, where a
coquettish eye on one looked up to an adoring eye on the other. She
had often built a romance about them as she watched them peeping at
each other through the leaves.
Down behind the house the waving fields of blue-grass rippled away to
the little river, where weeping willows hung their heads above the
lazy water, and ferns reached up the banks to catch the flowers. And
the fields and the river and the house and the trees were hers,--hers
and Carter's,--and neither could sell without the consent of the
other. She took a deep breath of satisfaction.
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