Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
CHAP.
UP to the age of fourteen I think I spent as happy a life as any childin any cottage home in England. There is many a cottage which is no"home" at all, in the true sense of the word, notwithstanding thosepretty words of poetry about—
but ours was one.
It stood on a bit of country road, with three or four other cottages,close outside a biggish town. We had a large pond in front, and lotsof trees beyond and on both sides of the pond; and the shadows of thetrees used to look very pretty on a summer evening, when the light fromthe sun came creeping through them with a red glow like firelight. Thewater would catch the glow, till it was all one sheet of brightness,and the trees seemed bending down to look at their own likenessesbelow, for every branch and twig and leaf might be seen there, pictured.
Sometimes a breeze would ruffle the surface, and then there were littlewavelets, with red on one side and grey on the other, and the picturedbranches and leaves had a snaky sort of movement in and out of oneanother. And if a duck swa