The children must see after their own toys, however. So Huckaback and Bombasine, the cloth monkeys, are placed with other things on the nursery table, where they lie grinning, with bead teeth. Here also is Natalie, who we read of in the first chapter, and Mrs. Apollo Johnson, a white material bear. Here are Molly Easter, the horse Anthony, and Ben and Greet. Clare, having put these toys aside, left the nursery, where the sense of dislocation was almost too acute. Going to her own room, she stood looking out of the window. The scene before her brought to her mind the view she was so soon to see. She thought of the green paddock to be full of daffodils in March, where the ashes stand with their grey stems, and the great yew tree. She saw the curve in the oak paling as it skirts the withebed, and the winding path that leads to Minnow Corner. She caught the scent of the old stone granary, that has just sufficient dash of mouse in it to make the hay and grain smell doubly sweet, and she remembered the thick yew hedges where linnets build, and the leaning boughs of the mulberry tree. “And all this,” thought she, “I shall soon see once more.” And with this thought there flooded into her heart a wave of love for the country, bringing with it the remembrance of some lines. “‘’Tis she that to these gardens gave The wondrous beauty that they have. She straightness on the wood bestows, To her the meadow sweetness owes. Nothing could make the river be So crystal pure but only she. She, yet more pure, sweet, straight and fair Than gardens, woods, meads, rivers are.’” And as Clare said these lines, with her mind dwelling on the country, suddenly it took a swallow’s angle, and she thought of London again and the life of the pictures that she had come to know. Swiftly she ran downstairs and stood in turn before each one of them. The morning light touched them unsympathetically. They seemed strangely aloof. Was it because her thoughts had been among the green living things of the country, her memory out in the fresh, sweet air of Nature, that these pictures seemed so dead? She stood before Lewis the actor. He gripped his sword and looked away. Before Mrs. Inchbald. She leaned from her chair, gazing intently, but not at Clare. Miss Ridge smiled, but the smile was not for her. Clare knew if she turned away, Miss Ridge would still be smiling. She stood before Kitty Fischer; but nothing that Clare could do or say would make her look up. “Miss Ross will say something,” thought Clare. But no spoken word came from Miss Ross. Yet as Clare stood looking, she remembered two lines, she knew not whence they came-- Endurance is the noblest quality, And Patience all the passion of great hearts.