They both stood still. She clasped her hands, and her eyes were lucent with mistiness.
"Oh," she cried, "it is like this:
"'How they seemed to fill the sea and air,
With their sweet jargoning.'"
Certainly they were a gay and happy lot, singing for the very love of melody, it seemed. Then they passed masses of flowers, beautiful groups of trees again, wound around unexpected corners.
"I wonder you found anything to praise up there on the hill," she said in a low, rather disheartened tone.
"Oh, I came to see you, and the gull, and Snippy, and to have the nice ride. And I did have a fine day. Now, you are not going to envy your neighbor's garden!"
"Why, no; I wouldn't want to take it away if I could, for there are so many of you to enjoy it, you see, and only so few of us."
"And your uncle will be rich enough to give you everything you want some day."
She had never thought about his being that.