The green waters of the canal, winding placidly through its green channel, with the elm-trees reflected greenly in its green depths, had a suggestion of Holland.
The lane was something of an adventure to the children of Wistaria Terrace.

There, any day, you might see a coachman curry-combing his satin-skinned horses, hissing between his teeth by way of encouragement, after the time-honoured custom.

Or you might see a load of hay lifted up by a windlass into the loft above the stables.

Or you might assist at the washing of a carriage.

Sometimes the gate at the farther side of the stable was open, and a gardener would come through with a barrowful of rubbish to add to the accumulation already in the lane.
Through the open gateway the children would catch glimpses of Fairyland.
A broad stretch of shining turf dappled with sun and shade.