Mr Pat's Little Girl
CHAPTER FIRST.
THINGS BEGIN TO HAPPEN.
"A magician most profound in his art."
It was Sunday afternoon. The griffins on the doorstep stared straight before them with an expression of utter indifference; the feathery foliage of the white birch swayed gently back and forth; the peonies lifted their crimson heads airily; the snowball bush bent under the weight of its white blooms till it swept the grass; the fountain splashed softly.
| "'By cool Siloam's shady rill |
| How fair the lily grows,'" |
Rosalind chanted dreamily.
Grandmamma had given her the hymn book, telling her to choose a hymn and commit it to memory, and as she turned the pages this had caught her eye and pleased her fancy.
"It sounds like the Forest of Arden," she said, leaning back on the garden bench and shutting her eyes.