"Oh, of course sometimes it blows, and sometimes it is smooth; but what is that?"
"Just according to your eyes."
"Aren't all eyes alike?"
"Not exactly. Some see."
"What do you see in the water?"
"There is one peculiarity of eyes," said Meredith. "You cannot see through another person's. Come, Maggie, let us stretch ourselves a bit."
Taking hold of hands, the two ran and scrambled down the steep, rocky pitch of the hill, to the edge of the river. The wind was not blowing to-day; soft and still the water lay, with a mild gleam under the October sun, sending up not even a ripple to the shore. There was a warm, spicy smell in the woods; there was a golden glow here and there from a hickory; the hills were variegated and rich-hued in the distance and near by. Meredith sat down on a stone by the water and looked out on the view. But he was graver than Maggie liked.
"Ditto," she said after a while, "you are thinking of something."
"Of a good many things, Maggie. How good the world is! and men are not!"
"What then, Ditto?"