"So do you," she replied, with a piquant nod. "Don't be conceited when
I tell you that you are good company."
"No; but I can't help being happy."
"Oh, indeed! It doesn't seem to take much to make you happy."
"Not very much from you."
"Pass me a biscuit, Graydon; I want something more substantial than fine speeches after our climb. Isn't all this truly Arcadian—this mossy rug on which we have placed our lunch, the trees whispering about us overhead, and the spring there bubbling over with something concerning which it murmurs so contentedly?"
"I wonder what they think of us! I can imagine one thing."
"You are always imagining. The idea of your being a banker! Well, there is a loud whisper from the trees. What was remarked?"
"That yonder little girl doesn't look so very unhappy."
"No, Graydon," she said, earnestly, "you make Saturdays and Sundays very bright to me. No girl ever had a truer friend than you are becoming."
"Have become, Madge."