It was covered with red and gold vines , through which its green-shuttered windows peeped . Before it was a tiny garden , surrounded by a low stone wall . October though it was , the garden was still very sweet with dear , old-fashioned , unworldly flowers and shrubs -- sweet may , southern-wood , lemon verbena , alyssum , petunias , marigolds and chrysanthemums . A tiny brick wall , in herring-bone pattern , led from the gate to the front porch . The whole place might have been transplanted from some remote country village ; yet there was something about it that made its nearest neighbor , the big lawn-encircled palace of a tobacco king , look exceedingly crude and showy and ill-bred by contrast . As Phil said , it was the difference between being born and being made . `` It 's the dearest place I ever saw , '' said Anne delightedly . `` It gives me one of my old , delightful funny aches . It 's dearer and quainter than even Miss Lavendar 's stone house . '' `` It 's the name I want you to notice especially , '' said Phil . `` Look -- in white letters , around the archway over the gate . ` Patty 's Place . ' Is n't that killing ? Especially on this Avenue of Pinehursts and Elmwolds and Cedarcrofts ? ` Patty 's Place , ' if you please ! I adore it . '' `` Have you any idea who Patty is ? '' asked Priscilla . `` Patty Spofford is the name of the old lady who owns it , I 've discovered . She lives there with her niece , and they 've lived there for hundreds of years , more or less -- maybe a little less , Anne .
Exaggeration is merely a flight XXXXX poetic fancy .
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