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Updated: June 25, 2025
"Maybe it's Grandfather Goosey-Gander smoking his pipe," suggested Lulu. "No, he doesn't smoke as late as this," said Jimmie. Then the smell of smoke got stronger, and, in about as long as it would take you to count one and a half, what should happen but that the whole duckhouse was suddenly lighted up. Then there came a crackling, roaring sound, and Papa and Mamma Wibblewobble jumped up.
As for that old duckhouse, I'm glad it's smashed, for maybe now Martha will agree to having it taken down. She never would before for fear it might come in handy sometime and I've had to whitewash it every spring. But you might as well argue with a post as with Martha. She went to town today I drove her to the station. And you want to buy my platter. Well, what will you give for it?"
It was the sketch she had written the day she fell through the roof of the Cobb duckhouse on the Tory Road. Anne glanced over it, then fell to reading it intently. It was a little dialogue between asters and sweet-peas, wild canaries in the lilac bush, and the guardian spirit of the garden.
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