So I lugged it out as best I could, and there I stood in my shabby grey tweed dress, with my little worn-out jacket and my small hat, clutching at the brown-paper parcel. It was fairly heavy, for I had had to put other things into it besides the now dress and the new jacket; but it was tied very securely with cord, and addressed in my father's handwriting with my name to the care of Miss Grace Donnithorne, Hedgerow House. "Now then, child," said Miss Grace, "we'll get into my pony-trap and drive home. Why, you poor thing, you're as cold as charity; and no wonder--no wonder." She insisted on carrying the brown-paper parcel herself. Waiting outside the station was a very neat little cart drawn by a shaggy pony. There was a boy standing by the pony's head. He was dressed in quite a smart sort of dress, which I afterwards discovered was called livery. He sprang forward when he saw Miss Donnithorne and took the parcel, which she told him to put carefully in the back of the carriage, and on no account to trample on it with his feet. Then we both got in, and a great fur rug was wrapped round us, and a cloak of Miss Donnithorne's fastened round my neck. "Now you can't possibly catch cold," she said.--"Jump up behind, Jim." Jim obeyed. Miss Donnithorne took the reins, and off we flew. Oh, how wonderful, how delightful was the sensation! We got to the cottage in about a quarter of an hour. Miss Grace told me that although it was called Hedgerow House, it was really only a cottage; but I could not tell what the difference was. It was a long, low, rambling sort of house, all built in one floor. The walls were so completely covered with creepers that, even though it was winter, you could not see much of the original stone-work; and where there were no creepers in full leaf there was trellis-work, which was covered with the bare branches of what in summer, Miss Donnithorne told me, would be roses. "Do roses really grow like that?" I asked. "Oh yes," she replied; "and jasmine and wistaria and clematis, and all sorts of other things." The dog that Miss Donnithorne had warned me about came out to meet us. He was a fox-terrier, with a very sharp nose black as coal, and all the rest of his body was snow-white, except his sparkling, melting, wonderful brown eyes. I must say his eyes flashed very angrily when he first saw me, but Miss Donnithorne said, "Down, Snap--down!" and then she laid her hand on Snap's collar and said, "You're to be good to this young lady, Snap." Snap, after glancing at me in a crooked sort of way, as though he were not at all sure that he would not prove the significance of his name, condescended to wag his tail very slightly. Miss Donnithorne took me into a very pretty little sitting-room at one side of the pretty little square hall. This room was filled with all sorts of unaccountable things. There were glass cases filled with stuffed birds of gay plumage. Miss Donnithorne glanced at them.