The house remembered her whole life. It had always been the same…it had never changed…not really. Only little surface changes. How she loved it! She loved it in morning rose and sunset amber, and best of all in the darkness of night, when it loomed palely through the gloom and was all her own. This beauty was hers…all hers. Life could never be empty at Silver Bush. Somebody had pitied her once…”so out of this world.” Pat laughed. Out of the world? Nay, she was in the world here…her world. “ I dwell among my own people.” Wise Shulamite!

A mysterious content flooded her. This was home.

L. M. Montgomery, Pat of the Silver Bush, p. 278