From the hill behind the house we could see the sunset; and that was one thing we did not have at Green Peace, shut in by its great trees. Here, before our eyes, still aching from the dust of the road, lay the great bay, all a sheet of silver, with white sails here and there; beyond it Conanicut, a long island, brown in the noon-light, now softened into wonderful shades of amethyst and violet; and the great sun going down in a glory of gold and flame! Nowhere else are such sunsets. Sometimes the sky was all strewn with fiery flakes and long delicate flame-feathers, glowing with rosy light; sometimes there were purple cloud-islands, edged with crimson, and between them and the real island a space of delicate green, so pure, so cold, that there is nothing to compare with it save a certain chrysoprase our mother had. Gazing at these wonders, the children would stand, full of vague delight, not knowing what they thought, till the tea-bell summoned them to the house for a merry picnic supper. Then there was clattering upstairs, washing of hands in the great basin with purple grapes on it (it belonged in the guest-chamber, and we were not allowed to use it save on special occasions like this), hasty smoothing of hair and straightening of collars, and then clatter! clatter! down again. There was nothing remarkable about the house at the Valley. It was just a pleasant cottage, with plenty of sunny windows and square, comfortable rooms. But we were seldom in the house, save at meal-times or when it rained; and our real home was under the blue sky. First, there was the orchard. It was an ideal orchard, with the queerest old apple-trees that ever were seen. They did not bear many apples, but they were delightful to climb in, with trunks slanting so that one could easily run up them, and branches that curled round so as to make a comfortable back to lean against. There are few pleasanter things than to sit in an apple-tree and read poetry, with birds twittering undismayed beside you, and green leaves whispering over your head. Laura was generally doing this when she ought to have been mending her stockings. Then there was the joggling-board, under the two biggest trees. The delight of a joggling-board is hardly to be explained to children who have never known it; but I trust many children do know it. The board is long and smooth and springy, supported at both ends on stands; and one can play all sorts of things on it. Many a circus has been held on the board at the Valley! We danced the tight-rope on it; we leaped through imaginary rings, coming down on the tips of our toes; we hopped its whole length on one foot; we wriggled along it on our stomachs, on our backs; we bumped along it on hands and knees. Dear old joggling-board! it is not probable that any other was ever quite so good as ours.