From the diary on her desk Anna lifted her cheek, looked up, reclosed her lids, smiled and reopened them. Miranda took the blushing face between her palms, and with quizzing eyes--and nose--inquired:
"Is there any reason under heaven why Anna Callender shouldn't go to bed and have glad dreams?"
"None that I know of," said Anna.
XV
THE LONG MONTH OF MARCH
Ole mahs' love' wine, ole mis' love' silk,
De piggies, dey loves buttehmilk,
An' eveh sence dis worl' began,