David's Little Lad by L.T. Meade — Read

Tired with my two days' early rising, I did not get up until late. I had nearly finished dressing, and was standing by my window, when I heard a woman's voice calling me in muffled tones below.

My room looked to the back of the house, and the woman had come to the inside of a thick fuchsia-hedge, which here divided the cottage, and its tiny surroundings, from the road.