I could see the rich green of bayberry bushes here and
there, where the rocks made room. The air was very sweet; one
could not help wishing to be a citizen of such a complete and tiny
continent and home of fisherfolk.
The house was broad and clean, with a roof that looked heavy
on its low walls. It was one of the houses that seem firm-rooted
in the ground, as if they were two-thirds below the surface, like
icebergs. The front door stood hospitably open in expectation of
company, and an orderly vine grew at each side; but our path led to
the kitchen door at the house-end, and there grew a mass of gay
flowers and greenery, as if they had been swept together by some
diligent garden broom into a tangled heap: there were portulacas
all along under the lower step and straggling off into the grass,
and clustering mallows that crept as near as they dared, like poor
relations. I saw the bright eyes and brainless little heads of two
half-grown chickens who were snuggled down among the mallows as if
they had been chased away from the door more than once, and
expected to be again.
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