which to live—so thought the Sturgises, who asked little.
"Come out here, Phil," Ken whispered, plucking his sister by the sleeve, one evening just before supper. Mystified, she followed him out into the soft April twilight; he drew her away from the door a little and bade her look back.
There were new green leaves on the little bush by the door-stone; they gleamed startlingly light in the dusk. A new moon hung beside the stalwart white chimney—all the house was a mouse-colored shadow against the darkening sky. The living-room windows showed as orange squares cut cheerfully from the night. Through the filmy whiteness of the cheese-cloth curtains, could be seen the fire, the table spread for supper, the gallant candles. Kirk lying on the hearth, reading.
"Doesn't it look like a place to live in—and to have a nice time in?" Ken asked.
"Oh," Felicia said, "it almost does!"
