"I am glad you like it up here," she went on, gravely doing the honours of the place. "I came this way because we shouldn't have so many fences to climb."
"You are the best little guide possible, and I have no doubt would always lead one the right way," said Mr. Carleton.
Again the same gentle, kind, appreciating look. Fleda unconsciously drew a step nearer. There was a certain undefined confidence established between them.
"There's a little brook down there in spring," said she, pointing to a small, grass-grown water-course in the meadow, hardly discernible from the height, "but there's no water in it now. It runs quite full for a while after the snow breaks up; but it dries away by June or July."
"What are those trees so beautifully tinged with red and orange, down there by the fence in the meadow?"
"I am not woodsman enough to inform you," replied Rossitur.
"Those are maples," said Fleda "sugar maples. The one all orange is a hickory."
"How do you know?" said Mr. Carleton, turning to her. "By your wit as a fairy?"
"I know by the colour," said Fleda, modestly; "and by the shape too."
"Fairy," said Mr. Rossitur, "if you have any of the stuff about you, I wish you would knock this gentleman over the head with your wand, and put the spirit of moving into him. He is going to sit dreaming here all day."