“Those that you saw are dappled deer. Father had them brought here from England,” Maida answered. “But once in a while we do see wild deer in this country.” “Oh I’d like to see some _wild_ deer,” Arthur said. Dicky didn’t speak but his eyes were luminous. As for Harold, he was still gasping with the surprise of it. On they went. The road curved and rippled like a ribbon being constantly thrown ahead of them. Suddenly they came to a great cleared space, smoother than any plush. Botkins stopped the car. At the end towered a huge house of white marble, with terraces. On the lawn, which stretched between the children and the house, grew, widely-separated, a few stately trees; wine-glass elms, oaks; copper beeches and powdered spruces. It was very still now and, unimpeded, the setting sun was sending great golden shafts across that stretch of plushy grass. They struck a pool of water in a marble basin in the middle of that emerald velvet; and through the fountain which played about it. Here ... there ... yonder ... motionless in that liquid golden light ... were white objects.... “What are those white things?” Dicky asked curiously. And then, one of the white objects arose, opened like a fan, spread to a wonderful size its snow-white tail; moved in stately fashion along the velvety-green lawn. “Maida!” Dicky gasped. “Not--Yes they are--white peacocks!” “Yes,” Maida answered. “White peacocks. I am so glad they were there. Everything has happened just as I wanted it. Sometimes it will be days before you see deer, although there are so many here. And sometimes the peacocks wander to the back of the house. I knew you wanted to see them, Dicky, and I’ve been hoping all along that they would be here for you. There are seven. We have a dozen.” Dicky was listening with all his ears; but at the same time he was looking with all his eyes. For out of the trees to the left, suddenly appeared another pair of peacocks in full sail. Not white ones this time; great prismatic, blue and green creatures--the sun struck bronze lights out of them as they floated on. “It’s like a fairy tale,” Dicky breathed. “Are we going to live there?” Rosie asked in an awed tone. “Oh mercy no!” Maida answered. “That’s father’s house--the Big House. Our house is ever so much nicer.” “I hope it isn’t any bigger,” Laura said, her voice a little awed too. Maida laughed a little. “No it’s not quite as big as that,” she admitted. “Shall I go on, Miss Maida?” Botkins asked. “Yes, please Botkins,” Maida answered. And they continued to go on through more winding, geometrically perfect, beautifully-kept, gray roads; past armies and armies of trees: high, plumy-tipped, feathery-trunked aristocratic elms; vigorous, irregular-shaped, peasant-like oaks; clumps, gracefully-slender, fluttering a veil of green leaves, of white birch; occasional pine, resinous and shining; beeches; firs. Suddenly everybody exclaimed at once, “Oh see the pond!” “What pond is it?” Harold asked.