"I want to dig." She'd made up her mind then to that.

As Hannibal determined to cross the Alps, as Napoleon set his feet towards Moscow, so did Nancy Ross resolve that she would, in the company of her father, dig in the gardens.

She stroked her father's hand, rubbed her head upon his sleeve; exactly as she would have caressed, had she been another little girl, the damaged features of her old rag doll.

She was beginning, however, for the first time in her life, to love some one other than herself.
He came, then, quite often to the nursery.

He would slip in, stay a moment or two, and slip out again.