dark hair, and eyes that were too full of light to let you see what
colour they were. Both children came to their feet, one saying,
"Marmaduke!" the other, "Mr. Dinwiddie!"

"What do two such mature people do when they get together? I should like
to know," said the young man as he reached the top.

"Talking, sir," said Daisy.

"Picking wintergreens," said the other, in a breath.

"Talking! I dare say you do. If both things have gone on together, like
your answers," said he, helping himself out of Nora's stock of
wintergreens,--"you must have had a basket of talk."

"_That_ basket isn't full, sir," said Daisy.

"My dear," said Mr. Dinwiddie, diving again into his sister's, "that
basket never is; there's a hole in it somewhere."

"You are making a hole in mine," said Nora, laughing. "You sha'n't do
it, Marmaduke; they're for old Mrs. Holt, you know."

"Come along, then," said her brother; "as long as the baskets are not
full the fun isn't over."

And soon the children thought so. Such a scrambling to new places as
they had then; such a harvest of finest wintergreens as they all
gathered together; till Nora took off her sunbonnet to serve for a new
basket. And such joyous, lively, rambling talk as they had all three,