For it is not fine things that make home a nice place, but your mother and your father.
As he was looking at the lovely colours, the gates were thrown open, and there was old Diamond and his friend in the carriage, dancing with impatience to get at their stalls and their oats.

And in they came.
Diamond was not in the least afraid of his father driving over him, but, careful not to spoil the grand show he made with his fine horses and his multitudinous cape, with a red edge to every fold, he slipped out of the way and let him dash right on to the stables.

To be quite safe he had to step into the recess of the door that led from the yard to the shrubbery.
As he stood there he remembered how the wind had driven him to this same spot on the night of his dream.

And once more he was almost sure that it was no dream.

At all events, he would go in and see whether things looked at all now as they did then.