Chapter 37

Meanwhile, Gillian made a happy tour of the farm. For now that there was a prospect of a little excitement, she was very glad to be home. She was heartily sick of her aunt’s prim house; and the sweeping lines of moor, the cowhouse with its warm fragrance and sound of low, deep breathing, the rushing fowls that came at her feeding-call, the one hatch of early chickens—of the colour of rich sponge-cake—had a new delight for her. She found three snowdrops in the long border under the orchard hedge—so white, so radiant…