A tiny brick wall, in herring-bone pattern, led from the gate to the front porch.

The whole place might have been transplanted from some remote country village; yet there was something about it that made its nearest neighbor, the big lawn-encircled palace of a tobacco king, look exceedingly crude and showy and ill-bred by contrast.

As Phil said, it was the difference between being born and being made.
"It's the dearest place I ever saw," said Anne delightedly.

"It gives me one of my old, delightful funny aches.

It's dearer and quainter than even Miss Lavendar's stone house." "It's the name I want you to notice especially," said Phil.