Whether it were the unexpected bringing up of his mother's name, or the remembrance of her spirit, something procured Miss Elizabeth a quick little bright smile of answer, very different from anything she had had from Winthrop before. So different, that her eyes went down to her work for several minutes, and she forgot everything else in a sort of wonder at the change and at the beauty of expression his face could put on.
"I didn't find those words myself," she added presently; — "a foolish man was shewing me the other day what he said was my verse in some chapter of Proverbs; and it happened to be that."
But Winthrop's answer went to something in her former speech, for it was made with a little breath of a sigh.
"I think Wut-a-qut-o is a pleasanter place than this, Miss
Haye."
"O, so do I! — at least — I don't know that it signifies much to me what sort of a place I am in. If I can only have the things I want around me, I don't think I care much."
"How many things do you want to be comfortable?"
"O, — books, — and the conveniences of life; and one or two friends that one cares about."
"Cut off two of those preliminaries, — and which one would you keep for comfort, Miss Elizabeth?"
"Couldn't do without either of 'em. What's become of my Merry- go-round, Mr. Winthrop?"
"It lies in the upper loft of the barn, with all the seams open."