"Very; I think so."

"Why, Daisy, what ails you? there is no fun in you to-day.
What's the matter?"

"I am concerned about something. There is nothing the matter."

"Concerned about Loupe, eh!"

"I am not thinking about Loupe. Oh, Ransom! stop him; there's
Nora Dinwiddie; I want to get out."

The place at which they were arrived had a little less the air
of carefully kept grounds, and more the look of a sweet wild
wood; for the trees clustered thicker in patches, and grey
rock, in large and in small quantities, was plenty about among
the trees. Yet still here was care; no unsightly underbrush or
rubbish of dead branches was anywhere to be seen; and the
greensward, where it spread, was shaven and soft as ever. It
spread on three sides around a little church, which, in green
and gray, seemed almost a part of its surroundings. A little
church, with a little quaint bell-tower and arched doorway,
built after some old, old model; it stood as quietly in the
green solitude of trees and rocks, as if it and they had grown
up together. It was almost so. The walls were of native
greystone in its natural roughness; all over the front and one
angle the American ivy climbed and waved, mounting to the
tower; while at the back, the closer clinging Irish ivy
covered the little "apse," and creeping round the corner, was
advancing to the windows, and promising to case the first one