"Oh, the one with the bluest eyes, who took fright at us and ran."
"That is just like Edith, to run."
"I know I could love her, John."
"You are anticipating, sister."
"Why, who couldn't love you, John?" asked Anne, looking up at him, with some doubts as to what he meant.
"That is a sister's opinion, child," said John.
"A sister's opinion of her brother is better than any one else's. Maybe she does love you, John. Did you ever ask her?"
"Maybe she does," said John, going toward the door and looking out over the garden fence and into the fields, and dreamily into the distance; "but she is too rich to accept me, sister," he said, turning about. "How soon will breakfast be ready?"
"As soon as you wash your face," she answered.
John, heeding this hint, went to a basin on a bench in the yard, which forcibly recalled the old days. How refreshing it was to him to soap and souse his face into the cold water! And how inconveniently unpleasant it was, after such soaping and sousing, to rush with blinded eyes, and water trickling down the neck beneath the shirt collar, to the kitchen and fumble, like a blind man, for the towel. But it was home to John.