“Well, begin then,” said his mother; “perhaps one will remind you of another.”
“First of all, then, what is the name of her place?”
“Myrtle Hill, near Stanton.”
“Myrtle Hill! what a funny name. Is it at all like this, mother?”
“No, dear, not much. I am afraid it is a much more orderly kind of place. But I will try to describe it to you. It is a good many years since I was there, and I did not notice things so very much. It is a white house with myrtle trained over the lower parts, and a great many myrtle trees growing in the avenue; that is why it is called Myrtle Hill. I know there is a large garden with a good many shady places under the trees, that I remember thinking would be delightful in the summer. There is a front garden too.”
“That’s nice,” said Arthur.
“Oh, but I don’t expect your aunt will like little boys to have the run of her garden!”
“I daresay she will,” said Arthur. “She is going to be very fond of me, you know.”
“Well, that is question number one. Now, what is the second?”
“Yes; where does she live?”