Pleasant English summer dawn in the pleasant English country village.

She stretched her graceful neck far from the casement, trying to catch a glimpse of the blue river.

She had seen its majestic flow on the day they had arrived at the fair, and longed to gain its banks; then her servitude to the stage forbade her.
Now she was to be free! O joy! Now she might have her careless hours of holiday; and, forgetful of Waife's warning that their vocation must be plied in towns, she let her fancy run riot amidst visions of green fields and laughing waters, and in fond delusion gathered the daisies and chased the butterflies.

Changeling transferred into that lowest world of Art from the cradle of civil Nature, her human child's heart yearned for the human childlike delights.

All children love the country, the flowers, the sward, the birds, the butterflies; or if some do not, despair, O Philanthropy, of their afterlives! She closed the window, smiling to herself, stole through the adjoining doorway, and saw that her grandfather was still asleep.