Dooryard

In the dooryard fronting an old farm-house near the white-wash’d palings, / Stands the lilac-bush tall-growing with heart-shaped leaves of rich green, […]

"You're soft, Jane," said Miranda once; "you allers was soft, and you allers will be. If 't wa'n't for me keeping you stiffened up, I b'lieve you 'd leak out o' the house into the dooryard."