rass-grown. You could
walk on it, so still, like this, and never make a sound.

She thought again of Father and wished he would come home. She _liked_
Father. He was solid. He was solid like that solid earth she liked so
much to walk on. It was just such a comfort to feel him. Father was like
the solid ground and Mother was like the floaty clouds. Why, yes, they
were _every_ way like what she had been thinking about. . . . Father was
the warm sun on the outside, and Mother was the cool wind on the inside.
Father was the end that was tied tight and firm so you _knew_ you
couldn't lose it, and Mother was the end that streamed out like flags in
the wind. But they weren't either of them like that slinky, swirly
water, licking at you, in such a hurry to get on past you and get what
it was scrambling to get, whatever that was.

Well, of all things! There was old Mr. Welles, coming towards her. _He_
must be out taking a walk too. How slowly he went! And kept looking up
the way she and Aunt Hetty had, at the sky and the mountains. He was
quite close now. Why . . . why, he didn't know she was there. He had gone
right by her and never even saw her and yet had been so close she could
see his face plainly. He must have been looking very hard at the
mountains. But it wasn't hard the way he was looking, it was soft. How
soft his face had looked, almost quivery, almost. . . . But that was silly
to think of . . . almost as though he felt like crying. And yet all
shining and quiet, too, as if he'd been in church.

Well, it _was_ a little bit like being in church, when you could see the
twilight come down very slow like this, and settle on the tree-tops and
then down through them towards you. You always felt as though it was
going to do something to you when it got to you; something peaceful,
like old Aunt Hetty.

She was at her own front path now, it was really almost dark. Mother was
playing the piano. But not for either of the boys. It was grown-up music
she was playing. Elly hesitated on the flagged stones. Maybe she was
playing for Mr. Marsh again. She advanced slowly. Yes, there he was,
sitting on the door-step, across the open door, leaning back his head,
smoking, sometimes looking out at the sunset, and sometimes looking in
towards the piano.

Elly made a wide circuit under the apple-trees, and went in the
side-door. Toucle was only just setting the table. Elly would have
plenty of time to get off her rubber boots, look up h