"Why, dear!" she exclaimed, "you have burnt your face. Why did you,"
turning to Redmond, "paddle about so long in the hot sun?"

Her words were light enough, but the tone of her voice was savage.
Redmond looked surprised; he waved his hand deprecatingly, but said
nothing. We went up toward the house, but Laura lingered behind, and
did not come in till we were ready to go to supper.

It was past sundown when we rose from the ruins of Mrs. Sampson's pies.
We voted not to start for home till the evening was advanced, so that
we might enjoy the gloom of the pine wood. We sat on the veranda and
heard the sounds of approaching night. The atmosphere was like powdered
gold. Swallows fluttered in the air, delaying to drop into their nests,
and chirped their evening song. We heard the plunge of the little
turtles in the lake, and the noisy crows as they flew home over the
distant tree-tops. They grew dark, and the sky deepened slowly into a
soft gray. A gentle wind arose, and wafted us the sighs of the pines
and their resinous odors. I was happy, but Laura was unaccountably
silent.

"What is it, Laura?" I asked, in a whisper.

"Nothing, Margaret,--only it seems to me that we mortals are always
riding or fishing, eating or drinking, and that we never get to living.
To tell you the truth, the pies were too sour. Come, we must go," she
said aloud.

Redmond himself brought Folly from the stable.