Smoke was rising from the chimney down in the servants' quarters, and the sun was streaming red across the lawn.

But over by the side of the house, in the shadow of Hero's monument, the dew lay sparkling like diamonds on the daisies and clover that bloomed there--the only place on the lawn where the sun had not yet touched.
Thrusting her bare feet into the little red Turkish slippers beside her bed, Mary caught up her kimono lying over a chair.

It was a long, Oriental affair, Cousin Kate's Christmas gift; a mixture of gay colors and a pattern of Japanese fans, and so beautiful in Mary's eyes that she had often bemoaned the fact that she was not a Japanese lady so that she could wear the gorgeous garment in public.

It seemed too beautiful to be wasted on the privacy of her room.
Fastening it together with three of Joyce's little gold pins, she stole down the stairway.

Mom Beck was busy in the dining-room, and the doors and windows stood open.