“The woman I engaged to clean the place, and put the furniture straight and get supper.”
There was a low wall, and trees inside.
“That's the garden,” said Mother.
“It looks more like a dripping-pan full of black cabbages,” said Peter.
The cart went on along by the garden wall, and round to the back of the house, and here it clattered into a cobble-stoned yard and stopped at the back door.
There was no light in any of the windows.
Everyone hammered at the door, but no one came.
The man who drove the cart said he expected Mrs. Viney had gone home.
“You see your train was that late,” said he.
“But she's got the key,” said Mother. “What are we to do?”