Mary

MaryThere was in those days--I hope it is there still--a village called Ufferleigh, lying all among the hills and downs of North Hampshire. In every cottage garden there was a giant apple tree, and when these trees were hung red with fruit, and the newly lifted po tatoes lay gleaming between bean-row and cabbage-patch, a young man walked into the village who had never been there before.He stopped in the lane just under Mrs. Hedges' gate, and looked up into her garden. Rosie, who was picking the...