“And did she really sleep out in the woods alone?” asked Sally.
“And does her grandfather really and truly have a big white house on a hill?” asked Jane.
“Yes, yes, yes. It is all true, every word of it,” answered Miss Rose.
Even Clematis could hardly believe it all, at first.
She followed her grandfather all about, wherever he went, for fear he might fly away, and never come back.
In the golden October, they moved up to the white house on the hill, grandfather, Clematis, and Deborah.
There Clematis had the room over the porch, where the vines climbed around her window. She could look out each morning, and see the river, and the lakes, with the mountains beyond.
She felt a little strange among all the new people she saw each day, and she had very much to learn. But Clematis learned the best thing of all, to do the best she could, and she soon grew into a sweet, useful girl.
Her little friends loved her, and her teachers helped her, for she tried to please them, and never complained because things were not easy to do.
When she heard that Sally and the other girls could hardly believe her story, she went and whispered to her grandfather.