"That's a beautiful hammock yonder," said Mr. Davenport.
Beth could see no hammock. There was a wonderful, intricate growth of shrubs, trees, and vines which formed an almost impenetrable mass of green, but no hammock.
"Where is it?" she asked. "It seems a very queer place for a hammock."
Mr. Davenport laughed at her, and explained that such a mass of green is called a hammock in Florida, not hummock as in the North.
Very soon they were past the swamps. The banks of the river grew higher and nice houses were to be seen on either side of the road.
Dolly, of her own accord, turned in at the gate of an unusually beautiful place. There are no fine lawns in Florida. In this case, the lack of such green was made up by a waving mass of blooming cardinal phlox, behind which was an orange grove in full bearing. In the well-cultivated grounds there were many inviting drives through avenues of trees.
"What are we going in here for?" asked Beth.
"Do you think it a pretty place?" returned Mr. Davenport.
"I never saw a prettier place. It's grand."
"Guess who owns it."