"A bhoot is an Indian ghost."
"And you thought I looked like an Indian ghost! with a turban! and an Afghan! and a scimitar! Oh, Kit! Did I really look like the mahogany table beneath the silver moonbeams? and did my eyes glitter?"
"What a goose you are!" says Kit, roaring with laughter. "No, you looked lovely; but I was reading an Indian story yesterday, and it came into my head."
"You read too much," says Monica. "'Much learning will make you mad,' if you don't take care. Remember what Lord Bacon says, 'Reading maketh a full man.' How would you like to be a full woman,—like Madam O'Connor, for example?"
"Francis Bacon never meant it in that sense," says Kit, indignantly. "I really wonder at you Monica." And, having so scolded her idol, she relapses into silence for a considerable time.
"Oh! what lovely dog-roses!" says Monica, presently, [pointing] to a hanging spray of pink blossoms, satisfying as a happy dream. "I must get them."
She springs up a mossy bank as she speaks, regardless of the blackberry branches that cross her path, barring her way, and catching viciously at her skirts, as though to hinder her progress.
"Oh, take care!" cries Kit, forgetting all about Lord Bacon in her terror lest her pretty sister shall not show to the best advantage in her lover's eyes. "Your gown will be torn. Wait, wait, until I set you free from these dreadful thorns."
"'Alas! how full of briers is this working-day-world,'" quotes Monica, gayly. "There, now I am all right, and I have got my pretty roses into the bargain. Are they not sweet?—sweet?" holding them right under Kit's nose.
"They are, indeed. And, by the by, here we are," pointing to a low farmhouse in the distance.