the sea. Once in a while some fruit falls from the heavily-laden
trees, and the first dead leaves rustle a little on the ground. The
bees are busy, making the most of the bright day; for they know of the
stormy weather coming. The sky is very blue, and the flowers very
bright. Two swallows are playing hide-and-seek through the orchard,
and chasing each other in great races, now so close to the ground that
it seems as if their feet might catch in the green grass, and now away
up in the air over the high walls out towards the hills; and just as
one loses sight of them, and turns away, here they are again. And in
the kitchen the girls are clattering the dishes and laughing; and do
you hear some one singing a doleful tune in a cheery, happy voice?

That is Dorothy, Polly's dear Dorothy, who waits upon grandmother,
with whom she has been to France, and Holland, and Scotland, and who
can tell almost as charming stories as grandmother herself.

The house is large and old, with queer-shaped windows, all sizes and
all heights from the ground, and a great many of them hidden by the
ivy. That is the outside; and if you were to go in, you would find
large, low rooms, filled with furniture that you would think queer and
uncomfortable. And there are portraits in some of them, one of Polly,
probably painted not very long before, in which she is attired after
the fashion of those days, and looks nearly as old as she would now
if she were living!

Now let us go back to the garden. The kitten has escaped, and Polly is
wishing for something to do.

"Where's Dolly?" says grandmother. "Find her, and then gather some
apples and plums, and have a tea drinking."

The doll had been very ill all day; it was strange in grandmother to
forget it. She had fallen asleep just before dinner, and been put
carefully in her bed; it would never do to wake her so soon. And
besides, a tea party was not amusing when there was no one to sit at
the other end of the table. This referred to Tom, Polly's dearest
cousin, who had just left her after a long visit; and she missed him
sadly.

"And," says Polly, "I do not think I should care for it if he were
here, if I could have nothing but apples. I'm tired of them. I have
eaten one of every kind in the garden to-day, even the great yellow
ones by the lower gate. I think they're disagreeable; but I left them
till the very last, and then I was afraid they would feel sorry to be
left out. I think I will eat anot