After she slipped unobserved from the railway coach, she followed the
familiar footpath in its leisurely windings across meadow and up-hill.
It led her to a tumble-down fence, surrounding a spacious, deep-turfed
lawn, with native forest trees--oak, elm, and chestnut--growing where
nature had set them. On the crest of the hill, rose a square,
old-fashioned house, dear and familiar. Home, home at last!
Anne pushed through the gate, hanging ajar on one hinge, and hurried
across the lawn. Even in the twilight, she could see that the microfila
roses by the front porch were still blooming--they had been in bloom
when she went away--and the Cherokee rose on the summer-house was
starred with cream-white blossoms. From the windows of the old
sitting-room, a light was shining and Anne hastened toward the latticed
side-porch which opened into the room. As she approached the steps, a
lank, clay-colored dog came snarling toward her. Two or three puppies
ran out, barking furiously. Anne stopped, too frightened to cry out.
The sitting-room door opened and a thick-set man in shirt-sleeves came
out on the porch. He peered into the darkness.
"Who's that?" he asked.
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