Jean, watching the beautiful miracle of the dawn, marvelled. The dew lent a silvery radiance to every blade of grass, every leaf and twig. There was an unearthly, mystic beauty to the whole landscape and the garden. She thought of a verse the girls had found once, when they had traced Piney’s name in poesy for Kit’s benefit, one from “The Garden of Proserpine.” Something about the pale green garden, and these lines,
“From too much love of living,
From joy and care set free.”
And just then the old doctor put his head in the door and sang out cheerily,
“It’s all right. Billie’s awake.”
CHAPTER XVIII
THE PATH OF THE FIRE
Carlota’s stay was lengthened from one week to three at Jean’s personal solicitation. The Contessa wrote that so long as the beloved child was enjoying herself and benefiting in health among “the hills of rest,” she would not dream of taking her back to the city, while spring trod lightly through the valleys.
“Isn’t she poetical, though?” Kit said, thoughtfully, as she knelt to make some soft meal for a new batch of Doris’s chicks. Carlota had read the letter aloud to the family at the breakfast table, and they could hear her now playing the piano and singing with Jean and Helen, “Pippa’s” song:
“The year’s at the spring,
And day’s at the morn.”