seemed to cling to
her. She was a good amateur musician, could sketch a little, and had
lately obtained some success in writing. Ever since Dorothy could
remember, she and Aunt Barbara and Martha, the maid, had lived together
at Holly Cottage, a particularly harmonious trio, liking their own mode
of life, and quite independent of the outside world. The little house
seemed to fit its inmates, and, in spite of its small accommodation, to
provide just what was wanted for each. First there was the old-fashioned
dining-room, with its carved oak furniture, blue china, and rows of
shining pewter; its choice prints on the walls, its bookshelves,
overflowing with interesting volumes; and the desk where Aunt Barbara
wrote in the mornings--a room that seemed made especially for comfort,
and reached its acme of cosiness on a cold winter's day, when
arm-chairs were drawn up to the blazing fire that burnt in the quaint
dog grate. Then there was the little drawing-room, with its piano and
music rack, and its great Japanese cabinet, full of all kinds of
treasures from foreign places. When Dorothy was a tiny girl it had been
her Sunday afternoon treat to be allowed to investigate the mysteries of
this cabinet, to open its numerous drawers and sliding panels, and to
turn over the miscellaneous collection of things it contained; and she
still regarded it in the light of an old friend. The artistic
decorations, the chintz hangings, the water-colour paintings of Italian
scenes, all helped to give an aesthetic effect to the room, and to make a
very pleasant whole. The kitchen was, of course, Martha's particular
domain, but even here there were books and pictures, and a table
reserved for writing desk and work basket. I fear Martha did not often
busy herself with pens and paper, for she held head-learning in
good-natured contempt; but she appreciated her mistress's effort to make
her comfortable, and polished the brass-topped inkpot diligently, if she
seldom used it. Peterkin, the grey Persian cat, generally sat in the
arm-chair, or on Martha's knee, which he much preferred, when he got the
chance; and Draco, the green parrot, hobbled up and down his perch at
the sunny window, repeating his stock of phrases, begging for titbits,
or imitating smacking kisses.

Just at the top of the stairs was Dorothy's special sanctum. It had
formerly been her nursery, and still contained her old dolls' house, put
away in a corner, though her toys were now r