E. Nesbit,
The Hammer and the Writing-desk
(1907)
“ The gentle reader will now see that that little girl was me, myself. I always loved the park better than anything. I never cared a straw about going on walks on roads—silly straight things. I liked it all: the trees and the deer and the foreign cattle—as long as they did not come too close with their horns—and the acorns and chestnuts and beechnuts and may-trees and buttercups and daisies and red sorrel. I used to think Elstead Park was the most lovely place in the world, and fit for a king. ”
