“‘Yes, and in the wood too.’
“‘What! is there a wood?’
“‘Acres of it.’
“‘And plenty of fruit and flowers?’
“‘Plenty to make you ill and to litter the house.’
“‘And purply plums, and ruddy apples, and soft downy peaches, and great rich Morello cherries?’
“‘Yes, yes, yes, and cabbages, and turnips, and ’tatoes, and beans, and brockylo enough to supply a greengrocer’s shop,’ I cried testily.
“‘And it doesn’t look new, and stiff, and bricky; and isn’t overlooked by the neighbours, who hang out washing; and there are no organs, nor cabs, nor street-singers?’
“‘No, no, no, no, child. It’s just what you asked me to get—old, and rugged, and picturesque, and inconvenient, and damp, and littered with leaves, and four miles from any railway-station; and now I hope you’re happy.’
“‘Oh, I am, dear, dear, dear father!’ she cried, seating herself on my knee, and nestling her head on my shoulder.