The old man Pottiswick, still grumbling, much to Melusine’s disgust, had gone on his errand to his daughter’s house some two miles distant. "Give me till to-morrow," implored she, "and if I can bring myself to part with him, you shall have him without another word. She fixed her eyes upon it and ran, keeping always as far as possible in the shadow of the hedge, gazing fearfully every now and then down along the valley for the white smoke of the train. A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home.
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