"Now let's go out on to the front gallery and watch the sunset. Supper was too late last night for us to see much of it, but to-night it will be fine—and you've no idea what a sunset really can be until you've seen it on the prairie!"
Tilly pursed her lips.
"There, Genevieve Hartley, there's another of those mysterious words of yours; and it isn't the first time I've heard it here, either."
"What word?"
"'Gallery.' What is a gallery? I'm sure I don't see what there can be about a one-story house to be called a 'gallery'!"
Genevieve laughed.
"You call them 'verandas' or 'piazzas,' back East, Tilly. We call them 'galleries' in Texas."
"Oh, is that it?" frowned Tilly. "But you never called Sunbridge piazzas that."
Genevieve shook her head.
"No; it's only when I get back here that the old names come back to me so naturally. Besides—when I was East, I very soon found out what you called them; so I called them that, too."