Explore "Peter" by Francis Hopkinson Smith on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The Scribe is quite positive that had you only heard about it as he had, even with the details elaborated, not only by Peter, who was conservatism itself in his every statement, but by Miss Felicia as well -- who certainly ought to have known -- you would not have believed it possible until you had seen it.
Even then you would have had to drop into one of Miss Felicia's cretonne-upholstered chairs -- big easy-chairs that fitted into every hollow and bone in your back -- looked the length of the uneven porch, run your astonished eye down the damp, water-soaked wooden steps to the moist brick pavement below, and so on to the beds of crocuses blooming beneath the clustering palms and orange trees, before you could realize (in spite of the drifting snow heaped up on the door-steps of her house outside -- some of it still on your shoes) that you were in Miss Felicia's tropical garden, attached to Miss Felicia's Geneseo house, and not in the back yard of some old home in the far-off sunny South.