“GOOD-MORNING, PATIENCE-ON-A-MONUMENT”
“Good-morning, Patience-on-a-Monument.”
“Good-morning, Grief. Grief, that’s the fluffiest hat I ever saw.”
“Have you been waiting long?”
“Hours and hours.”
“Then, come, get in. We’re going driving ‘over the hills and far away.’”
She clucked to her steed, and the old mare, disdainfully obedient, conveyed them straight through the brook—the water rising to the hub—and up the windings of a wood-road beyond.
“The first thing a man wants to know on a picnic,” affirmed Betty sagely, “is whether or not there’s enough to eat. There isn’t, but there will be.”
“I rest content. Betty, who taught you to dress like that?”
“Do you like me—my clothes, I mean?”