The dog was sitting up very straight beside her, and gazing benevolently down at Gippie, who lay on her lap. They were all out on the front door-step, and 'Tilda Jane was knitting industriously. It was a day like May in the month of March--there was a soft, mild air and a warm sun that made dripping eaves and melting snow-banks. Little streams of water were running from the garden to the road, and from the road to the hollow of the river, where large cakes of ice were slowly loosening themselves, breaking up and floating toward the sea. Spring was coming, and 'Tilda Jane, despite the incorrigible sulkiness of the person with whom she was living, felt it good to have a home.