"What makes them black?"
"The soot. We burn bituminous coal here. You'll have to wash your hands oftener than you do in Boston."
"Doesn't anybody ever sit on these benches?"
"Never. Why do you do lessons in holiday time?"
"Grandfather expects me to."
"Humph!" said Mrs. Gano.
They had come down off the veranda towards the terraces that sloped on this side down below the level of the street at the bottom of the property, which occupied an angle between Washington Street and Mioto Avenue. They went down the first flight of stone steps, but stopped at the top of the second.
"We won't go down there," said Mrs. Gano. "It is a perfect wilderness."
"Really?" said Ethan, making great eyes of wonder. "What's down there?"
"What you see. Huge sunflowers, and reeds, and grasses—it's very damp in the middle—and briers and wild roses, blackberries, great weeds and bushes, dock and tall mullein, and up on that side where the ground rises a little towards the lower terrace, there used to be a garden—where you see the asparagus gone to seed."