It had hardly any furniture.

Just a table and a chair and a rug.

But always big pots of flowers on the window-sills and on the mantelpiece.

The children saw to that.

And from the three long uncurtained windows the beautiful stretch of meadow and moorland, the far violet of the hills, and the unchanging changefulness of cloud and sky.
"Here's your tea, Mother-love," said Bobbie; "do drink it while it's hot." Mother laid down her pen among the pages that were scattered all over the table, pages covered with her writing, which was almost as plain as print, and much prettier.