The beleaguered
inhabitants felt safe. It was a delightful, cosy feeling, yet
excitement and surprise were in it too. Anything _might_ happen, and
at any moment.
This, at any rate, was how Judy and Tim felt the personality of the
old Mill House, calling it Daddy's Castle. Maria expressed no opinion.
She felt and knew too much to say a word. She was habitually non-
committal. She shared the being of the ancient building, as the
building shared the landscape out of which it grew so naturally.
Having been born last, her inheritance of coming Time exceeded that of
Tim and Judy, and she lived as though thoroughly aware of her
prerogative. In quiet silence she claimed everything as her very own.
The Mill House, like Maria, never moved; it existed comfortably; it
seemed independent of busy, hurrying Time. So thickly covered was it
with ivy and various creepers that the trees on the lawn wondered why
it did not grow bigger like themselves. They remembered the time when
they looked up to it, whereas now they looked over it easily, and even
their lower branches stroked the stone tiles on the roof, patched with
moss and lichen like their own great trunks.
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