“Oh, Lor’ young mist’ess! Yo’ doane know wot yo’s a-doin’ ob! Raisin’ udder people’s chillun! Oh, Lor’! She gwine be a heap o’ trouble, ’deed she is. Heap o’ trouble. She gwine to hab de measles, an’ de scarlet feber, an’ de whoopin’ cough, an’—an’—an’—all dem dere. Oh, young mist’ess, sen’ her to de ’sylum.” “I must put her to bed. Is there a fire in my bedroom?” “Sartin, ma’am. But yo’ gwine to put dat chile inter yo’ own bedroom?” “Yes, and into my bed. She has slept with me ever since her poor mother died. Now take a candle and light me upstairs,” said Roma, as she tenderly lifted the child from the lounge and carried her out. Serious, moaning and groaning, and predicting all sorts of calamities from the presence of the unconscious child, went up before her mistress and opened the bedroom door. Roma laid the child on the outside of the bed and began to undress her so softly and deftly that Owlet never fully waked up, but only sighed with relief at being able to stretch out her tired limbs. “Open that bag on the floor and give me the little nightdress out of it,” said the lady. Serious groaned, and obeyed. And Roma, having gently slipped the dainty white cambric gown on the small sleeper, turned down the bed and tenderly laid the little one within it. Then she dismissed Serious for the night, and disrobed, and retired to rest, and—thanks to the day’s fatiguing journey—she also, notwithstanding her anxiety, sank to sleep. “Oh! oh! oh!” These words were the first sounds heard by Roma when she awoke on the morning after her arrival at Goblin Hall. She looked up, and saw little Owlet standing, in her white nightgown, at the front window, which, with her usual innocent assurance, she had taken the liberty to open. “Well, little one, up so early?” said Roma cheerfully. “Oh, look! look! look! Did you ever? Did you ever? Did you ever?” exclaimed Owlet, in a rapture of delight, not once turning her eyes from the something that entranced her. Surprised at this outburst of wild enthusiasm from the usually grave and non-admiring child, Roma stepped out of bed and went to the window. She saw nothing unusual there, only the sunlit heavens and earth, the deep blue sky, with a few soft white clouds, the green, wooded hills and vales, and, nearer the house, gently sloping uplands covered with orchards of apple, peach and cherry trees in full blossom, making a forest of pink and white and red bloom; and just under the window the newly set flower beds, with the early spring crocuses, pansies, violets, tulips, jonquils, daffodils and hyacinths, just breaking into bloom. Yet Roma understood that to the city child all this must seem enchanting. “Oh, it’s like heaven! Isn’t it like heaven? Isn’t it the Garden of Eden, where Adam and Eve used to live? Oh! I could just jump out of the window into it all! Oh! I must put on my clothes and run out into it all! I must! I must! I must! George Thomas is asleep in his basket.”