"This is jolly," said Norton.
"Isn't it?" said Matilda. "It is so nice here. And do you smell, Norton, how sweet it is with the hickory wood?"
"That isn't hickory," said Norton. "It's oak."
"Part of it is hickory, Norton, I know. But I suppose oak is sweet."
"I think everything is sweet to you," said Norton.
"I do think it is," said Matilda. "Everything is to-night, I am sure. Everything. Isn't this just as pleasant as it can be?"
"It's jolly," said Norton. "Let's have on another stick. Now we can think and talk what we will do."
"What we will do, Norton?" Matilda repeated.
"Yes. We've got no end of things to do. Why, now we can do what we like, Pink. You aren't going away any more; and we can just lay our plans in comfort."
"I didn't know we had any plans to lay," said Matilda. She looked as if the present was good enough. The firelight shone on a little figure and face of most utter contentment, there down on the rug; a soft little head, a very gentle face, but alive with pleasant thoughts.