when Miss Monro had settled down to her study of the Spanish language,
Ellinor stole out into the garden, meaning to have a fresh cry over her
own naughtiness and Mr. Corbet's departure; but the August evening was
still and calm, and put her passionate grief to shame, hushing her up, as
it were, with the other young creatures, who were being soothed to rest
by the serene time of day, and the subdued light of the twilight sky.

There was a piece of ground surrounding the flower-garden, which was not
shrubbery, nor wood, nor kitchen garden--only a grassy bit, out of which
a group of old forest trees sprang. Their roots were heaved above
ground; their leaves fell in autumn so profusely that the turf was ragged
and bare in spring; but, to make up for this, there never was such a
place for snowdrops.

The roots of these old trees were Ellinor's favourite play-place; this
space between these two was her doll's kitchen, that its drawing-room,
and so on. Mr. Corbet rather despised her contrivances for doll's
furniture, so she had not often brought him here; but Dixon delighted in
them, and contrived and planned with the eagerness of six years old
rather than forty. To-night Ellinor went to this place, and there were
all a new collection of ornaments for Miss Dolly's sitting-room made out
of fir-bobs, in the prettiest and most ingenious way. She knew it was
Dixon's doing and rushed off in search of him to thank him.

"What's the matter with my pretty?" asked Dixon, as soon as the pleasant
excitement of thanking and being thanked was over, and he had leisure to
look at her tear-stained face.

"Oh, I don't know! Never mind," said she, reddening.