"Lift up your heads, O ye gates, the rich and the poor meet together, yet the Lord is the maker of them all!"
March left them deep in theology. He found Mr. and Mrs. Fair half hid in newspapers, and Miss Garnet with a volume of poems.
"How beautiful the country is," she said as she made room for him at her side. "I can neither write my diary nor read my book."
"Do you notice," replied he, "that the spring here is away behind ours?"
"Yes, sir. By night, I suppose, we'll be where it's hardly spring at all yet."
"We'll be out of Dixie," said John, looking far away.
"Now, Mr. March," responded Barbara, with a smile of sweetest resentment, "you're ag-grav-a-ting my nos-tal-gia!"
To the younger commercial traveler her accents sounded like the wavelets on a beach!
"Why, I declare, Miss Garnet, I don't want to do that. If you'll help me cure mine I'll do all you'll let me do to cure yours."
Barbara was pensive. "I think mine must be worse than yours; I don't want it cu-ured."