ebullition of spirits, _joie de vivre_, bonhomie, and all those
attributes which cause people possessing them to make a noise. When
she enters a room you always think of those lines, 'the mountains
skipped like rams, and the little hills like young sheep.'

She descended on Henry and me just a year after our marriage. As we
have now been married ten years you will be able to calculate her age
if you are good at arithmetic.

Elizabeth did not disapprove of The Kid. It might have been awkward if
she had. As a matter of fact, they became close companions at sight.
There were certain affinities between them. Elizabeth, for example,
although perhaps not so habitually sticky as The Kid, like her didn't
seem able to remain clean or tidy for longer than half an hour at a
time. Also, Elizabeth believing in Signs, The Kid revered her for her
mysticism--about the only person who ever did. She used to beg to be
allowed to study her Dream Book, and every evening before bedtime would
go into the kitchen and--sitting amid that wild disorder that is
necessary to Elizabeth before she can really feel at home--'look up'
her dream of the previous night.

Try as she would, the poor child never seemed to have the sort of
vision that, in the words of the book, had 'excellent portent.' 'I
don't get the nice things,' I once heard her remark, 'like white
horses, you know, which, it says, portend honours, riches and rare
gifts. Did you ever dream of white horses, Elizabeth?'

'That I did--wunst.'

'And did you get the honours, and all those things, Elizabeth?'