The very stir of life was everywhere.

She walked, but trod as steps the wild deer, lightly, with confidence, high-headed.
"Chick-chick-chick-chickee!" called Mary Ellen, bending over the fence of the chicken yard, and noting with pleasure the hurrying, clacking throng of fowls that answered and swarmed about her.

"Chick, chick, chick!" "I'll be thah t'reckly wif ther feed, Miss Ma'y Ellen," called out Aunt Lucy from the kitchen.

And presently she emerged and joined her mistress at the corral.
"Aunt Lucy," said Mary Ellen, "do you suppose we could ever raise a garden ?" "Whut's dat, chile--raise er gyarden?
Kain't raise no gyarden out yer, noways." "I was just thinking may be we could have a garden, just a little one, next year." "Hit don' never rain ernuf, chile, in this yer country." "I know, but couldn't we use the water from the well?
The windmill is always pumping it up, and it only runs to waste.

I was thinking, if we had a few peas, or beans, or things like that, you know--" "Uh-huh!" "And do you suppose a rose bush would grow--a real rose bush, over by the side of the house ?" "Law, no, chile, whut you talkin' 'bout?
Nothin' hain't goin' to grow yer, 'less'n hit's a little broom cohn, er some o' that alfalafew, er that soht er things.