But there was no time to say more, for there was a grand hunt to make for carriage-boots, and warm shawls, and gloves, and a certain bonnet that would unquestionably require all Mrs. Pevensey’s self-command not to laugh at—it was so sadly out of date. She _did_ give it one amused look, but that was all; for she is kindness itself, and has too much real wit to depend for it on personal ridicules. She knew she had taken me by surprise, and must make allowances. So, having triumphantly got me into her most easy of close carriages— “Where shall we go?” said she. “Oh,” said I, “the turnpike will be _quite_ far enough.” “Very well. Then, to the turnpike, George,” said she, as the footman shut us in. But the roguish woman must have glanced, I am sure, to the left instead of to the right, as she spoke; for the coachman, doubtless taking his instructions from George, drove us to the farthest turnpike instead of the nearest. Well, it was very pleasant! I had been so long pent up, that “The common air, the earth, the skies, To me were opening Paradise.” We are nearly through April; and the hedges are quite green, though the oaks, ashes, and beeches are still leafless, and the meadows are not yet sprinkled with buttercups. But the blackthorn is in full flower. Besides, a great many alterations had been effected since I was last out, which I noticed with surprise and interest; for though hearing of alterations is one thing, seeing them is quite another. My old favourite promenade, the elm-tree walk (sometimes called the Queen’s Walk, though the queen’s name I never could ascertain), was as yet unharmed amid the rage for letting ground on building leases to freehold-land societies; but, beyond it, new houses had sprung up in various directions. When I first came to live in the neighbourhood of Elmsford, there were only four houses between me and the town; and having for some few years been accustomed to live in a street, I used occasionally, on dark nights, to feel rather unprotected. If a dog barked at the moon, I used to think of thieves, and remember that some suspicious-looking man had begged at the door; or I thought of fire, and ruefully considered the scarcity of water. Besides, where were we to get help?—Why, in _heaven_, where I may ask for it at once, thought I, and for freedom from all disquieting alarms. So I used to seek it, and then yield to the quiet, dreamless sleep that was _sent_. Now, in place of four houses, I saw a dozen, with stone porticoes to the doors and heavy architraves to the windows, and very little green about them higher than three-foot laurels, which the cows had evidently nibbled, as they do mine, on their way to and from milking. At one of these houses we stopped, while the footman carried a beautiful basket of hothouse flowers to the door, and delivered a message. While we waited, I heard the sound of a harp, and listened to it with pleasure. “How pretty!” said I.