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“There is a nice big cypress tree at the Cushats,” said Philomène, “but I have never seen a whole avenue of them. I wish I could. Oh, Sweet William, I do get so bored sometimes living in a little house with a little garden, and nothing exciting happening all day long.”

“Boredom,” said Sweet William, “is a modern complaint to which the young are peculiarly prone.”

“I wish he would call something an ancient complaint to which old people were prone,” thought Philomène. “And I’m sure it’s just as bad to be always finding fault with the times in which one lives as with the house.” But out loud she only said, “And may I come here sometimes, please, and will you tell me a few more stories? Godmother tells me beautiful stories which she makes up as she goes along, but she has so many people to visit and so many things to do that I cannot see her very often, and I know all my books nearly by heart, and Nurse can only tell stories about the families she was with before she came to me, and all those children seem to have been so dull and good.”