It's different from every other house." They were coming home from a long walk, laden with spoils from the woods: moss for the bowls of bulbs, beautiful bare branches such as Jean loved to stand in blue jars against the creamy walls.

Mhor and Peter had been coursing about like two puppies, covering at least four times the ground their elders covered, and were now lagging, weary-footed, much desiring their midday meal.
"I don't know," said Jean, pondering on the subject of neighbours, "how you could manage to be friends with them.

You see, they are busy people and--it sounds very rude--they haven't time to be bothered with you.
Just smile tentatively when you see them and pass the time of day casual-like; you would soon get friendly.

There is one house, the one called 'Balmoral,' with the very much decorated windows and the basket of ferns hanging in the front door, where the people are at leisure, and I know would deeply value a little friendliness.

Two sisters live in it--Watson is the name--most kindly and hospitable creatures with enough to live on comfortably and keep a small servant, and ample leisure after they have, what Mrs.M'Cosh calls, 'dockit up the hoose,' to entertain and be entertained.